Try
by charrrmed
Summary: Michonne had tried with Andrea in some ways. She'd extended herself. She hadn't tried in other ways. She hadn't shared herself. Was she supposed to share herself with Rick now? Rick Grimes was hardly a friend. Starts right after Merle let Michonne go.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! I always wished they would've let Michonne be pissed at Rick for deciding to give her to the Governor, even if she understood, so I used that as a jump off point to this story. It's 10 chapters long and is complete, and updates will be posted Mondays and Saturdays. I hope you like it!**

* * *

 **The Only Person in the World**

Michonne Warren stood in the middle of the road and watched Merle Dixon drive off. Where he was headed, she wasn't sure. Was he making an escape, or would he have the gall to return to The Governor empty-handed? She couldn't hazard a guess where Merle was concern. Because although she pegged him as not that bright, she was still surprised that he'd let her go. He, of all people, had taken mercy on her and let her go. And here she thought she'd been talking in vain when she'd been trying to appeal to his decent side.

The car disappeared beyond her line of sight, and she was left staring at a long stretch of empty road. How appropriate.

She turned around and looked at the empty, leaf-strewn stretch of road behind her. Where she'd come from.

The katana was weightless in her hand. She squeezed the scabbard as a mean of forcing herself to focus on the subject that was most important: not Merle's fate, not the fact that she was still alive, but what she was going to do next.

Returning to the prison was out of the question.

Right?

 _Right._

There was still the matter of persuading Andrea to extract herself from the Governor's clutches. But there was a whole group of people aware of Andrea's location now. A competent group. Andrea's people. As much as she wanted to rescue Andrea, she couldn't ignore the fact that she herself was both a target and a pawn. A target for the Governor and a pawn for Rick. Disposable.

Her upper lip curled involuntarily. What she wouldn't give to run Rick Grimes through right now. Straight through the heart. Or the neck.

She'd told Merle that a truly evil man doesn't regret his despicable decisions. They don't weigh on him. He remains light as a feather.

She pictured that to be Rick right now. Light as a feather, thinking Merle was handing her over to the Governor to do with as he pleased in exchange for the safety of his people at the prison.

Yeah. It was clear now that she hadn't settled long enough to get a proper read on Rick Grimes, and she would love nothing more than to slice his ass from here to Sunday.

Stepping away from her thoughts for a moment, she realized that she needed to get off the road. But to go where?

The motel, of course. The answer came annoyingly quick to her.

She walked over to her left and disappeared into the woods.

She was careful as she walked, ears alert, eyes alert.

Rick's face barged into her mind's eye, and she scoffed. It was practically a growl. His confused, curious face the first time she'd seen him at the fence. His slow walk to her. Him standing there doing nothing, even when the walkers, walkers, his group called them, even when the walkers started to swarm her.

As she'd faded on the ground, she'd hoped that none of the gunshots she was hearing were aimed for her.

Then he'd grabbed her wound. She didn't blame him for that. Especially since she'd slapped the shit out of him in response. Twice, in quick succession, _slap slap_ , the second harder than the first, and then Daryl had pointed his crossbow at her while yelling at her to stop and the boy, Carl, had raised his gun, and Rick had told them both to hold it.

 _Keep your hands off me. That's all you gotta do._

She'd been speaking to all of them, including Hershel.

But she didn't blame Rick for grabbing her wound, didn't blame him for taking her katana hostage afterward, and she didn't blame him for later pointing a gun at her. She'd been as much a stranger to him as he was to her.

But that was all in the past, at least she'd thought so. They'd zeroed in on common goals: ward off the Governor to keep the prison and save Andrea. And she'd relaxed enough to turn her back. And gotten bopped over the head and kidnapped for her troubles.

Fuck them.

She hadn't settled anyway. She hadn't thought about things beyond getting Andrea away from Woodbury and defeating the Governor. But now the decision had been made for her: she couldn't stay. She wanted the best for Andrea, but she wasn't going to get killed for her, especially if the decision to die would not be hers.

 _Outsider._

That was what Merle had called her. That was what she was. An outsider, passing through, like a season. She'd been a season in Andrea's life, a connector. She'd connected her to her group, and now they could go after her and carry out the rest.

Besides, she apparently had a bounty on her head. _That_ should be her biggest worry.

The Governor had people. What the hell was she going to do against _people_? A damn militia.

She sighed, and she realized then that she was loudly crushing the leaves under her feet. She'd gotten distracted, lost in her thoughts. Stupid. Very stupid.

She stood still and listened, gave the illusion of looking straight ahead while staying alert for the slightest movement in her peripheral vision.

Satisfied that there was nothing, she continued forward.

If Rick had agreed to give her to the Governor, then the Governor was waiting for her. And when she didn't show up, he _would_ come looking for her.

She stopped walking and turned in the direction Merle had driven off.

She could take the fight to him. He wanted her. She could show up, the deadliest iteration of _be careful what you wish for_.

But she needed to put more thought into it than that. Showing up had worked once, but she wasn't going to count on it working twice.

She _would_ take the fight to him. But she needed to prepare.

But which did Philip want more, her or the prison?

Hell, a man like him? Both. And she was _not_ going to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

The best thing for her would be for him to attack the prison to blow Rick's head off for Merle's failure to turn up with her. That would buy her the time she needed.

So she should probably be heading in the opposite direction, in the direction Merle had driven, in Woodbury's direction.

But she couldn't go empty-handed. She needed to regroup. She needed supplies.

But even as she soldiered on toward the motel where Merle had secured their ride, she knew: she didn't know the first thing about hot-wiring a car. Which meant she couldn't take too many supplies with her.

She stopped walking.

"Fuck."

* * *

When she got closer to the motel, she became even more alert. She and Merle had driven away in a car, but she'd kept her eyes trained to every opening in the woods that could serve as a marker.

Just as she expected, she saw the eight walkers that had been drawn by the sound of the car alarm earlier. She could've avoided them, but she wanted the exercise, and she needed to let out her frustration. Since banging her head against a wall wasn't an option, she went at the walkers. She made her way through all eight.

Staring at them on the ground, dismembered or otherwise cut open, she pretended they were Rick.

One was still moving. The head was off the body, but it was still snarling and snapping its jaw. She walked up to it and raised her sword.

"Hey!" a male voice yelled as it approached. "Where's my brother?"

She didn't look up. The severed head _could_ be Daryl Dixon. She drove the katana through it and then looked at him. Maybe it was her stormy mood, but the resemblance between him and his brother couldn't be more pronounced at the moment.

Daryl's eyes briefly fell to the katana. "You kill him?" he asked, his tone more subdued.

She was flattered. "He let me go. He had a conscience," she said, her tone measured as she slowly tilted her head.

Whereas she'd wondered where Merle was driving off to, Daryl experienced no such indecisiveness. His narrow eyes widened for a second as a lightbulb turned on, and then he said, "Don't let anyone come after me," and rushed past her.

She slowly turned to watch him go. How presumptuous. How _fucking_ presumptuous.

She raised the katana and flicked the excess blood off. She would still have to sheath it _with_ the leftover blood. She hated doing that. It was a personal pet peeve. It always made her wonder how dirty the inside of the scabbard was.

Grimacing, she put the sword away and finally draped it across her body.

She watched Daryl run off. To his death, probably. She was willing to put money on Merle's side in a confrontation with the Governor, but she wasn't sure about Daryl.

Oh well. More bumps on the Governor's road to get to her. She wasn't going to complain.

Don't let anyone come after him. He thought she was going back? He must be as delusional as Rick.

She rolled her eyes at her joke about Rick's mental health, because she was not in the mood to laugh. Turning, she trucked on toward the motel.

 _Where does the only person in the world go?_

 _Where does the loneliest person in the world go?_

These were the thoughts that hounded her as she walked up to the motel. Rummaging through the rooms and the front office didn't help. The thoughts still nipped at her.

 _Where does the only person in the world go? Where does the loneliest person in the world go?_

She took the chair from the writing desk in the room she was in and sat on the side of the wall where the door opened. Sunlight streamed into the two double-bed room.

 _Where does the only person in the world go?_

She was floored that she was even asking herself these questions. It said something about her that she did not want to acknowledge. She was out. She was out of the emotional quicksand, and she was facing the world.

She could really do with seeing Mike right about now.

She let her head fall slowly against the wall behind her. Now why'd she have to go and think _that_?

She'd stopped seeing Mike shortly after she'd found Andrea. Andrea, who'd pulled a gun on her.

"Oh fuck," she said, grimacing as she stood from the chair, because she knew where her thoughts were going. That feeling. That fucking feeling.

 _You need me_. She'd said those words to Rick in Woodbury. She'd been bloody and battered, but she'd been victorious. Only she'd felt everything but victorious. She'd felt like she'd lost. Andrea, her friend, whom she'd cared for and nursed for eight months, had pulled a gun on her in defense of a man she barely knew. The conviction and distrust in Andrea's eyes, both aimed at her, had sliced her heart in half. She might as well have discharged the gun.

She'd walked out of the room and out of the house feeling completely dejected. Worthless. She'd wanted to open Andrea's eyes, to show her. Instead it was her eyes that had been pried open.

So when Rick had pulled his gun on her, mere minutes later, she hadn't even flinched. She hadn't been capable.

 _You need me_. She hadn't believed those words one bit.

And now her thoughts ran rampant. Who needed her now? To whom was she vital?

Mike didn't need her anymore.

She closed her eyes and put her fingers against them.

Mike didn't even exist anymore. She'd cut him and Terry down in a quick act of survival. They'd let her down while they were alive, and then they'd had the nerve to be moaning, and hissing, and shaking their shackles when there were violence-thirsty men looking for her. She'd cut them down.

Andre didn't need her anymore.

She pushed at her eyeballs.

No one needed her.

No one cared. No one gave a fuck.

She was almost hand-delivered to her death today.

She could still die.

No one gave a fuck. She would not be missed.

"Holy shit," she breathed harshly, her chest tight as she dropped her hands and opened her eyes. She willed her thoughts to stop. She tried to steer them.

Since when had she wanted to be needed? Wanting to be needed was weak. It was weak! It was weak!

She didn't belong to anyone, and she was okay with that.

She was absolutely not okay with that.

Some invisible essence, Time, maybe, wrenched the control of her thoughts away from her.

She hadn't belonged to anyone since Mike and Andre. That fact hadn't bothered her until now. For the first time since she'd lost her baby, she was truly on her own. Even trauma and grief had abandoned her, and now her heart was open to these...fucking emotions.

The end of the world was too conducive to navel-gazing. It was quiet. Not enough distractions.

Shoulders drooping, she slowly walked to one of the beds and softly sat down, her small body feeling smaller now, like it took up very, very little space.

What she wouldn't give to see Mike right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Happy Saturday! Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following!

* * *

 **Go Home**

She hadn't cried. She clung to that fact with pride as she walked nine miles to the convenience store where she'd first laid eyes on Glenn and Maggie. After deciding on the soundness of it, she filled two hand baskets with bottled water, tampons and pads, bandaids, energy drinks, one stick of antiperspirant, a pack of two toothbrushes, toothpaste, a pack of four toilet paper, four packs of plastic rain ponchos, protein bars, cookies, and chips.

This was her: a nomad. She survived on foot, and she didn't bother with more than she could carry. The only reason she was risking it with two full baskets was because she didn't have a hideout yet. She didn't know how far from the store she would eventually settle, and she definitely did not want to settle too close to a supply spot.

By the time she conquered another fifteen miles in Woodbury's direction, her feet were tender, her lower back was tense, and her arms were screaming. But she found a spot in the woods for the time being. There was no roof. She was out in the open air, but she did her best to be inconspicuous, choosing a spot with heavy foliage. By her calculation, it was officially spring, so the temperature wouldn't drop too much when night fell. She would put on the ponchos when she was going to sleep. They would serve as extra layers and break any wind that swept over her, but she was still in for a cold and uncomfortable sleep. If she slept at all.

She settled in and began to strategize. Her proximity to Woodbury would let her know any time the Governor or his militia left the compound, as they had to drive past her spot.

When the sun began to set, she heard two footsteps, and her heart quickened. Because she knew she was dealing with people who were armed with guns, and she wasn't looking to get shot again, she made herself scarce, not caring if they found her supplies.

"Michonne," a familiar male voice called.

Daryl. Not dead. She narrowed her eyes.

"I know you're here. Just want ya to know it's me and Rick. No need to jump out."

Her lips tightened of their own accord at the mention of Rick's name. She stood from her crouching position and walked out on muted footsteps. Their backs were turned to her, Daryl's knees bent as he walked, and Rick's hand hovering over the gun at his thigh.

Her nostrils flared at the position of Rick's fucking hand.

"We're alone," Daryl disclosed.

"We want you to come back with us," Rick declared.

Her heart rate accelerated again at the gall of him to speak. "What are you reaching for your gun for?" she asked.

The men quickly turned to face her, but they kept their weapons down. Michonne cooly raised her eyebrows. Someone up there must like them.

"Michonne," Rick said.

Her nostrils flared again. "What?" she asked tightly.

Rick's mouth moved, but he clearly didn't know what to say first. "I'm glad you're okay."

She slowly smiled. Teeth and all.

"No thanks to me," Rick appended. "Obviously."

He began walking to her, and she closed her expression. He stopped.

"I'm sorry," Rick nodded toward her.

Michonne stared at him, her face hardening.

"I'm really sorry. What I did: it was a bad call."

"A _bad_ call?" she slowly asked. "Go home, Rick."

"It was a mistake," Rick explained.

"Go home. You're wasting your time. And mine. There's a man out there who wants to kill me, and I need to figure out what to do about that."

"That's why we're here," Rick said. "That's why _I'm_ here. I want to help you with that."

Michonne closed her eyes and wondered if he was real. Maybe her hallucinations had evolved.

"I want us to do it together," Rick said.

" _You_ want to make sure you have an ace in the hole," she snapped as her eyes flew open. "A last card in your pocket you can always _throw out_ when the going gets tough."

"No," Rick disagreed, shaking his head, blue eyes imploring her to believe him.

"You're wasting...my fucking time, Rick. Go _home_. Don't you have _people_ to protect? The Governor _must_ be pissed, and he's probably looking for your head to roll."

"I think he's satisfied for today," Daryl quietly inserted.

Michonne turned diamond eyes on him.

"He killed Merle," Daryl informed her.

The reveal softened her composure for a moment. So Merle _had_ driven to Woodbury.

"He went at 'im guns blazing," Daryl explained. "Took out a couple of his men, but...I found him. What was left. Put 'im down."

Michonne lowered her eyes in contemplation. When she raised them, she noted the puffiness of Daryl's face. She noted the shadows that had nothing to do with the setting sun. "I'm sorry," she said.

Daryl shook his head. "Ain't no need to lie."

"I'm not. I'm not saying I'm gonna be thinking about him two days from now, but I'm standing here because of him. What I knew about him wasn't good, but the last thing your brother did was grow a conscience. I'm sorry he died."

Daryl swallowed hard and nodded.

Michonne pointedly turned her eyes to Rick.

"What I did," Rick began.

"I want you gone," Michonne cut him off. "Leave. _Leave_."

"I'm-"

"I don't _care_ about what you did. I get it, Rick. You had one card to play."

"I didn't."

"You did. Or you felt you did. Either way: you chose the good of the many over the good of the few. I don't fault you for that. I completely understand. But what you're _not_ gonna do is stand there and force me to look at your face. You made a _choice_ , and it didn't work out, through no fucking fault of your own-"

"I _changed_ my mind," Rick drawled as he stepped closer to her.

" _Did_ you." It wasn't a question.

"I did," he insisted. "But it was too late."

"Apparently not," she disagreed. "But you didn't know that, right?"

She switched her attention to Daryl. "Is that why you were out here earlier, to _catch_ Merle before he could complete the hand off?"

"Yeah," Daryl confirmed.

She smiled and looked at Rick. "That's cute. You _changed_ your mind, but if it wasn't for _me_ Rick? If it wasn't for me pulling out everything I had to talk to Merle and appeal to him, I'd be with the Governor right now while he did God knows what to me before he eventually killed me."

Rick swallowed. His constant blinking exposed his guilt.

Michonne shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, and a chuckle burst past her lips. "But you changed your mind, right? That's why you think you can _stand_ here in front of me?"

"I'm standing here to tell you that I made a mistake. And that it could've been a very costly mistake, but it wasn't, and, no, that had nothing to do with me. It had everything to do with you and Merle. I am not the person who made that decision."

"Bullshit."

"I made a choice out of desperation," he explained as he approached her on bowed legs. " _Fear_ and desperation. Michonne, I-You _know_ that things-I wasn't myself. I went for the easiest choice and convinced myself it was for the best. _No one_ agreed with me. Daryl said it wasn't us, and Hershel disagreed, but I didn't listen to them, because it was _my_ job to make sure no one else died. What I decided felt wrong, but…"

She hated him. He was standing there, beseeching her, tears close to spilling down his cheeks, and she keenly hated him. Her connection to him had been so sudden and sharp. She'd felt it tumble vigorously in her belly every time they made eye contact. And then she'd seen him talking to someone who wasn't there, and he'd confirmed it. He saw things just like she did, and…

A connection. It had felt so real.

She'd made the whole thing up in her head.

That was twice, now.

She cut her watery eyes down from his.

"I'm so-"

"Stop," she deadpanned.

"There isn't any excuse."

"I hear you," she said. She fortified her composure and raised her head.

"I want you to come back," he plead.

"I'm not coming back."

"You can't stay here."

"I don't plan to."

Rick narrowed his eyes. "You...you plan to take on the Governor?"

"I did once. I got distracted, but I'm not gonna let that happen again."

"I can help you."

"I don't want your help. I can do this by myself."

"You needed us as a distraction last time, remember? Manpower?"

"Well, that's why you found me _here_. I need to take into account _his_ manpower. I need to figure out how I'm gonna get in. I need to let him think I've run. Something. And _speaking_ of distraction, you wanna atone for your sin, Rick? I know that's why you're standing here. Just keep being the target that you are. You and your prison. Who the hell knows? Maybe he wants the prison more than he wants me. Go home and keep him busy. _That's_ what you can do."

"I'm not leaving here without you, Michonne," Rick declared, his voice stronger than before.

"Is this a strange situation for you, Rick?" Michonne asked with a pitying smile. "Not having a choice?"

"No," he replied calmly.

"Not used to being the bad guy?"

"I've felt like the bad guy plenty of times."

Michonne was sure there was a sob story behind each and every one of those times.

"Me leaving you alone is not the way to take care of this," Rick said.

It was as if he'd read her mind, because that was exactly what she was going to say next.

"I don't want you out here alone, and, considering we're still talkin', I don't think you wanna be out here alone, either."

"You don't know me."

"I know you found us. I know you can't back out of that. I won't let you, and it's not guilt, it's...it's not guilt. I know you can probably be okay out here. I know. But I want you to come back."

His eyes were watery again. Watery, and earnest, and pained. _Her_ eyes were watery again.

"You don't have to talk to me," he said, so low that he was whispering past a tight throat. "You don't have to acknowledge me. It's a large prison. But, please, come back. We can take care of the Governor together. Or we'll follow your lead, however you want it. I promise that _nothing_ will happen to you. Not from me or anyone else. That will _never_ happen again. I've, I've taken care to make sure I'm not the only one making the decisions."

His tears spilled, and she quickly averted her eyes.

When she saw him wipe his tears in her peripheral vision, she raised her eyes to the pale orange sky and hoped her tears would grant her the dignity of staying inside her lids.

"You'll be safe," Rick promised.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Are you guys still alive after last night? My goodness! I was dead and gone before the end of the ep yet STILL got my whole entire life.

* * *

 **Try**

She did go back. And no sooner was she back did they start making plans for the Governor. During a group meeting, Rick asked her if she had anything to add, and she said only that she was listening. His eyes darted around at the group: Hershel, Maggie, Carol, Carl, everyone. And he looked at her again, and he said that he wanted her to tell him if she had any ideas, if she agreed, or if she disagreed. He said that he wanted the best plan possible, and he needed her opinions to make it happen.

She said okay, agreeing to be vocal.

It was a circle they formed for the meeting.

She stood outside of it and kept her eyes on Rick.

No sooner was she back did they come up with a plan, and everyone started packing their things in preparation for an attack by the Governor.

Everyone who wasn't Rick, Daryl, or Carl tiptoed around her. No one came up to her to say a word. They could claim packing and preparing to evacuate as an excuse. Carl apologized to her for his father. Everyone else who wasn't Rick or Daryl tried to apologize with their eyes. She looked at them head-on and didn't give an inch. She made no effort to look approachable.

She worked with Daryl to set up a trap of walkers in the tombs for the Governor and his militia. They exchanged words only when they needed to.

She rode in the car with Rick to Woodbury after the Governor attacked to finish the job. It was just the two of them, with Daryl riding his motorcycle ahead. They didn't exchange a single word.

No sooner was she back did she watch Andrea die.

"It's good you found them," Andrea said to her. "No one can make it alone now."

Eight months. She'd spent eight months with this woman. So she had to watch her end it. She had to stay.

Rick gave Andrea his gun, and then he and Daryl left the room.

"I'm sorry," Andrea whispered when they were alone. "I should've listened to you."

"Don't," she uttered, her voice unstable. "Don't go with regret."

"I should've listened to you," Andrea whispered again. "But I did try. I tried to fix it. I'm not going with regret. You don't know, but that's big for me. Thank you, Michonne. For everything."

* * *

Five days later, the shot from Rick's gun went off in her ears, loud and final.

She stood in front of a row of mirrors and stared at herself above one of the sinks in the male bathroom of the cell block. She didn't know the person staring back at her. She didn't know what the fuck she was feeling. She looked gaunt, despite the fact that she ate regularly now. In the harsh light of the flashlight, her eyes were sunken in, the lines under them harsh and pronounced. Her face looked longer than she remembered, and the skin seemed to droop from them.

Her eyes traveled down. Her arms were lanky, and she knew she was making that up, because she stood on her hands regularly to work on her core, and she was up to one thousand push ups every day.

She picked up the flashlight from the sink, stepped back from the mirror, and pointed it down at her feet, which were resting in blue flip flops. Disgraceful. Her toes needed help. If Woodbury hadn't been a complete mirage, she would've taken advantage of their nail salon. As things stood, she was still peeling her toe nails off with her fingers when they grew too long. The last time she'd seen a nail clipper, nail file, and a buffer, she'd had a designated storage area for them in her and Mike's apartment.

She reclaimed her spot in front of the mirror, put the flashlight on the sink, and looked at herself through sleep-deprived eyes. It was almost three in the morning.

Her hair looked good at least. She pulled at one of the locs. Regular watering was doing them good. They looked healthier and darker.

She scratched an itch in the middle of her scalp and then dropped her arm heavily.

 _I tried._

One of Andrea's final words.

She wondered what that felt like: to try. She wondered what that meant.

She closed her eyes and saw Andrea's face, not as it was after she'd taken her own life, but just before. The resolution, the subtle peace.

She opened her eyes and blinked at herself. She was clearly not going to accomplish anything by standing here. Dawn was in a couple of hours, and she'd be up, looking more alive and competent than she does now, and she'd be off to track the Governor again, covering an even larger area around Woodbury this time.

She exhaled through her nose and grabbed her katana leaning next to the sink, as well as the flashlight, and she headed for the door.

Her hand hovering over the handle, she listened. Habit.

Someone was outside of the restroom.

"Who's there?" she asked firmly, not too alarmed.

"Me. Rick."

She inhaled through her nose and then released the small tension. She opened the door and walked out.

Rick was sitting with his legs crossed on the cold cement floor, with his gun and a skinny flashlight next to him. The flashlight was off.

She stared at him, and he stared at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You get up every night," he answered.

"Still tracking my moves, huh?"

"No. I hear someone walking every night, and I've had a feeling that it's you."

Her eyes were dry from lack of sleep.

"Wanna talk?" he asked.

She dropped her head toward him. "You in the mood to talk, Rick?"

"To talk to you, yeah," he answered. "If you're up for it."

It was then that she registered the tone of his voice. He sounded like it was close to three in the afternoon rather than three in the morning. He hadn't been sleeping. "Is that...every night?" she asked, wiggling the light in his face.

"What?" Rick asked, averting his eyes from the light.

"You weren't sleeping."

"Most nights," he answered, looking up at her.

And like her, he always looked ready to tackle everything when he walked into the cafeteria in the morning.

A familiar feeling rumbled in her belly and asked to be recognized. She ignored it like she'd been doing since she'd decided to come back almost a week ago.

She crossed the hall and lowered herself next to him, flinching a little from the bullet wound on her thigh as she crossed her legs. The wall was cool against her back. She set the katana next to her and the flashlight in front of her, and the light beamed to the ceiling.

"You've been going nonstop," Rick commented as he looked at her.

"We have to find him. He killed...he killed his own people. A man like that isn't just gonna give up."

"We've been circling wider and wider around the prison every day, and we haven't found anything. You and Daryl have been circling Woodbury, and you haven't found anything."

"I'm not taking that as good news. He's probably regrouping somewhere. Karen said he drove away with two men, so that's two in his corner for now."

She, Rick and Daryl had gone to Woodbury immediately after bringing what was left of the disoriented residents to the prison. It had been her idea, and she'd been willing to go back alone, but Rick and Daryl had tagged along. They'd hidden out in Woodbury all day, but the Governor never turned up. They'd rounded up every single supply available and driven back to the prison at night fall.

She had to hand it to Rick. He looked withdrawn and lost half the time, but when it was time to show up, he showed up strong, like the consummate leader. She appreciated that.

"You've been doing well," he cut into her thoughts. "Very well. I'm impressed."

Michonne frowned at him, seriously wondering if he could read her mind.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she blinked, realizing she was peering at him. "So you're monitoring me, like probation?"

"No," he answered, dragging the word a little as he tilted his head away from her.

For a moment, Michonne softened. She could allow herself to think that she liked how expressive he was when he spoke, whether it was with his head, his face, his entire torso, or his eyes. She could allow herself to think that. But she wouldn't.

He looked at her, and she switched her gaze to the wall ahead.

"I swear, I'm not keeping track of you, Michonne. I'm just saying that...I appreciate the way you do things."

Michonne slowly nodded, trying not to care about the compliment. "Thank you," she replied without looking at him.

"So, why aren't you sleeping?" he asked conversationally.

"Shit's up in the air," she dodged.

She saw him looking at her through her peripheral vision. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her eyes forward.

"Had you seen someone commit suicide before?" he asked.

The unexpected question made her stomach constrict. Michonne looked at him and was met with soft, kind eyes. He knew the answer. "No. But that's not what...I understand why she did it. There was no other choice."

"How long were you two together?"

"Rick, this...really isn't necessary," she said, uncrossing her legs to pull them up to her chest. It was only afterward that she realized that the move made her look vulnerable.

"It's important," Rick said quietly. "Like I said, I'm up to talk to you."

She actually wasn't sure what that meant, now that he'd repeated it. But she answered him, her distant eyes on the wall in front of her. "Eight months. We were together for eight months. She did most of the talking, asking questions. I barely answered. I just...took care of her. Andrea's the first person that I...She was the first person that I treated like they were real in a long time, about seven months, I think. She didn't know that.

She was my friend. I don't think she knew that either. Most of it happened in my head. I couldn't speak. I didn't know how anymore. And when I did, I warned her about Woodbury, about the Governor. She wouldn't listen. Because she didn't know me. She didn't trust me. She's dead, and she didn't even know that she's the person I've felt closest to since…"

Her smile was bitter. "She was willing to put a bullet in my head. Maybe not my head. Maybe she would've lowered it and fired a warning shot in my leg. I like to think that. But she sure looked willing. For Philip. _I_ nursed her back to health. I kept her alive. But the rest all happened in my head, you know? The...friendship."

She valiantly blinked away tears.

"She's happy you found us," Rick said, trying to be helpful.

"I don't know what that means," she said stoically.

"She's happy you're safe. She's happy you have people."

Michonne licked her upper lip. "I ran across Maggie and Glenn by accident. _Total_ accident. I left Woodbury, and she didn't know what the hell would happen to me." She shrugged, and her face twitched. "I don't think she gave it a second thought. There was a clear choice, and...she chose."

Rick shook his head and sighed. "Andrea wasn't the best decision-maker. I'm sorry."

Michonne thought about how he kept saying those words to her. _I'm sorry_. He usually said them with his eyes. He's been saying them since she came back. Out loud, she asked, "Is that how she ended up alone, separated from you guys?"

"Kind of, yeah. She and I didn't leave off in the best of terms. She didn't think I was the right man to lead. I had a...a friend. My best friend. He had other ideas about how to lead: more aggressive, more confrontational, more us versus them. Them, at the time, being Hershel and Maggie, and their family. Andrea preferred that whole super alpha, hot-headed approach. A couple of people did at the time."

"Where's your friend now?" Michonne asked with the tone of someone who already knew the answer. She wasn't sensitive in the way she asked either. She didn't know why Rick's kind eyes had suddenly turned hollow, but she could imagine Andrea giving him a hard time. Andrea hadn't been timid about sharing her doubts.

"He's dead," Rick said.

Hollow. She didn't see grief. She saw emptiness. She heard a little bit of anger, a little bit of a challenge. For a moment, she wondered who he was challenging. Who was he defying with that statement? _He's dead_.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Yeah," he replied without looking at her.

Michonne internally raised her eyebrows. She didn't pick up much sorrow in the reply. She knew from her personal experience that not every death was a fucking tragedy. Some were more than well-deserved. Because of the tone of Rick's reply, she wondered how things had ended between him and his friend.

"So, that's why you're up at night," Rick said, returning to the first topic.

"Yeah," she answered quietly. "That, and the Governor, and...other stuff."

"Like what?" he asked.

She turned to him with a long-suffering look.

"Feel free to tell me to fuck off any time," he said, an easy glimmer in his eyes.

"Oh, I will," she promised. She faced forward and shook her head, too amused by him in that moment for her liking. "It's just shit, Rick. Stuff. Ridiculous, annoying stuff."

"Where were you before you met Andrea?" he asked.

Michonne almost huffed in sudden exasperation. How? How was he able to get to the root of what she was thinking without even knowing it? This was the type of shit that made her belly act absurd.

"I wasn't...anywhere, Rick." She shook her head.

 _I tried._

One of Andrea's final words. She had tried with Andrea in some ways. She'd extended herself. She hadn't tried in other ways. She hadn't shared herself. Was she supposed to share herself with Rick now? Rick Grimes was hardly a friend. She was positive he'd put some country White boy roots on her the first time they met, though. That would explain the ludicrous reactions her belly sometimes had to him. He _had_ touched her blood after all.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked. "Michonne," he called sharply.

"What?" she asked distractedly, snapping her head up to look at him.

"You were staring at the light a little hard. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Yes," she answered. She lightly shook her head and blinked to reorient her thoughts. She stretched her legs in front of her. Great. Now she was being a weirdo.

"We can go to bed," Rick suggested.

"Neither of us will sleep," she deadpanned. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and then exhaled.

"You don't have to-"

"Since we're gonna forget all about this conversation when the sun comes up-"

"No, Michonne, I mean it. You don't have to answer anything. We can go to bed or talk about something else."

She seriously considered that. But then it would just be in her head. She'd be feeling things all by herself, and no one would know.

"You asked. I want to answer."

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," Rick insisted.

And right then, she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to lean in, and press against his rosy pink lips, and find out if he kissed as well as he sounded. And walked. He had a walk to make a woman get on her knees and thank Jesus.

"Why are you asking?" she questioned softly.

"I want to know you," he replied, just as delicate. "I just," he continued as he glanced away, "I think there's something about you. I wanna know what it is," he finished, returning his gaze to her.

Before he'd deprived her of his eyes, she was certain that he'd wanted to kiss her, too. It's been a long time, so she was surprised to discover that she still recognized _the look_. And Rick Grimes had given her _the look_.

Someone wanted to know her.

She decided to try. "Before I met Andrea...I was nowhere. I was nothing. Before that, I was a murderer. Before that...I was a mother. To a _gorgeous_ three-year-old boy. He'd be four now, actually. He was born in February. Andre Anthony Warren-Young. I'm sure you think Carl's beautiful, and he is a looker," she said with a playful glance his way. "But Andre was _gorgeous_ , charming. He just took you in and made you fall in love. He was the most adorable little boy."

She looked at him, and a small crease appeared on her forehead, and she blinked, curious about how someone can look so discomposed about something that had to do with a virtual stranger. But she appreciated his reaction. She knew he could guess, at this point, what had happened to Andre. She also knew that he could never guess how abominable and...fucking unnecessary it had been. "I've never talked about him with anyone," she revealed quietly.

Andre has been her pain, hers alone, quiet, in her heart, at times surprising her with an acute and forceful upsurge that would almost paralyze her. Her baby was dead, but she continued to carry him.

But she tried, now. She tried to share him. And she wasn't sure if Rick was worthy of helping her carry her baby. But he wanted to know her. And there was something about _him_.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Her smile was tight and fleeting. Her head was facing him, but her eyes were on the floor behind him. "Um. It was me, and his dad, and his dad's friend. We were a unit, but we stayed in a camp, eventually. There's a before and an after, you know?" she asked rhetorically. "Before the change and after the change. Before the change, Mike, Andre's father…"

She chuckled then. One sound. Devoid of humor. Filled with wonder. "Before the change, I was proud to say that: Mike, Andre's father. Before the change, that meant something. It meant to him what being Peanut's mother meant to me. It meant that Peanut was bigger than him. It meant that he came first. It meant that we were selfless."

"I'm not who I was before," she revealed, looking at him now. "I mean, I went to the gun range maybe four times, before? The first time was for my birthday. I learned to handle and shoot a rifle and a shotgun at the camp, after. I asked this former marine, Demarcus, to teach me. Mike was not for it at first, but I convinced him of the practicality of it. I told him to learn, too, and he started, but he thought it was pointless, so he stopped. I practiced some with Andrea's Beretta."

"Before, I was what you'd call warm," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Sociable. Quick to be exasperated by bullshit, but...I don't think there's been much change there. Only now, exasperation is not enough. Exasperation won't keep you alive. Now, bullshit can kill you," she said, thinking about the Governor's Jim Jones ruse, which Andrea fell for.

"Mike, he was still him after the change. He was a great partner. He asked questions and demanded answers. But when there wasn't anyone to argue with anymore, when the military disappeared from sight, and they started dropping bombs, and shooting people from helicopters, and getting past a walker meant you had to kill it yourself instead of running away while the military handled it, then he started to crumble. He asked questions instead of coming up with solutions.

And that was fine. He was the love of my life. I wanted to make things safe for him. I wanted to give him peace of mind."

She was quiet for a long time, then.

Rick didn't push. She again wondered how he just knew what the right thing to do was.

"I, um...What I did was...I allowed him...to watch Andre...for his peace of mind. I did that. I was taking Andre with me for a group run, again, and we got into an argument about it, again, and he told me that that was still his son. You should've seen him. His eyes. I knew he wasn't dealing with this the way he wished he could. I knew he didn't want to be getting high whenever he could, always escaping. I knew that. So, I agreed. To make him feel...important. Useful. I left Andre with him."

The pain exploded in her chest, then, suddenly and without warning. Her heart ruptured and more pain rushed out to flood her senses with an overwhelming sense of debilitating loss. She tightened into herself, dragging her legs back up and wrapping her arms around them, convinced, not for the first time, that this feeling, this ghastly feeling of missing the life she'd grown inside of her and nurtured was finally going to eviscerate her.

To her immense surprise, Rick embraced her, all of her, and she didn't realize that he was so much bigger than her that he could wrap all of her in his arms, and she lost it. She took refuge against his chest, and she shed her pain in a brand new way. Not screams, not violence, not hallucinations, nightmares, or surrounding herself with the walking, decaying dead. She shed her pain in fat tears, never-ending tears. She cried until no sound came out. She cried until she started hiccuping, and she did it all with the comfort of being held and coddled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Real Human Contact**

She wasn't crying anymore. She'd held her breath long enough to stop the hiccups, but Rick still held her, so she availed herself of the comfort of his hard chest. He smelled good. He felt better.

"I've been wondering about the woman who'd bring a fight to the Governor all by herself," he rumbled above her. "Now I know a little bit more. Now I know a lot more."

"I hate who I am right now," she disclosed. "I don't know _what_ I am right now. That's what I mean. I miss being nothing. Everything was locked away when I was nothing. Now, I...I think I want things. Which is so pointless. This self-reflection, navel-gazing shit is for the birds."

She felt his chest cave in when he smiled.

"What do you want?" he asked, and his voice seeped into her pores.

"I'm not willing to talk about that yet. Not because I know. I just don't wanna talk about it. I'm not afraid of the Governor, Rick," she revealed, focusing on the his first comment. "I'm just not, and I can't tell you why I'm not. Maybe because I'm convinced I can take him. Of all the things that can kill me now: the walkers being number one, hunger, thirst, the elements, hell, the common cold can probably kill me now, _Philip_ will not be it. I refuse."

"I respect that. I really do," he professed.

She extracted herself from the comfort of his arms to look him in the eyes. "Have you ever come across a situation where you were like: hell no, not like this?"

His open expression closed, and he nodded once. "Yeah. Yeah, I have. And it was a definite hell no."

"Tell me about it," she urged.

Just then, her stomach groaned. Loudly.

"Sounds like you're hungry," Rick said, amused. "Let's go to the kitchen."

"Don't worry about my stomach," she said with a dismissive shake of her head. "I hope you're not trying to dodge, Rick, because there's no way you're not spilling the most traumatic thing to ever happen to you after what I just told you."

"I'm not dodging," Rick said as he picked up his gun and flashlight and stood. He held his hand out to her, "I just want to put something in your stomach."

As she looked up at him, all lean and in pajamas braced on sinful hips, her mind dove into the gutter at the comment.

She tried to block all inappropriate thoughts. "Sure." She took her sword and placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes locked.

Grand scheme of things: she didn't know what she was. But in this moment, with Rick's eyes penetrating hers, his large hand firmly closed around her small one, she knew exactly what she was. A woman.

Maybe she wasn't the only one whose crude mind had twisted his comment.

"Lead the way," she said with bated breath.

Still, he looked at her. For a suggestive moment more. And then he nodded, and he let go of her hand, and he took a step back and picked up the other flashlight.

"Let's go," he said.

They went to the prison's cafeteria and walked through to the kitchen, where Rick asked her to choose between granola bars and a bag of the barbecue chips she'd scavenged for her stay in the woods. She chose the chips, telling him they'd save the healthier stuff for breakfast.

They returned to the cafeteria and sat next to each other at one of the rectangular tables. Rick set the working flashlight in the middle of the table, along with his gun and the other flashlight, and she set her katana down. He tore open the bag and laid it in front of them. He gestured for her to go first, and they dug in.

"So, tell me," Michonne began after they'd made a nice dent in the bag of chips. "Who was Rick Grimes before the change, besides a family man?"

She waited for him to finish chewing and swallow. He worked his mouth, presumably to dislodge the chips caught in his teeth, and he swallowed again. He shook his head. "I don't think there's a before or after for me. I don't know what I am either. Not anymore," he shared, and he looked at her then.

"Why not?" she asked.

Again, he shook his head. "I didn't see any of this go down. The change? I was in a coma."

"You're lying. Are you serious?"

"I'm serious," he said, smiling. "I was a deputy with the King County Sheriff's Department."

"I was wondering why Carl wore that hat," she revealed.

"I answered a call with a partner, my friend, the one who died. We caught the guys, but there was one we didn't see. He blindsided us, and I took a slug right under my armpit."

Without warning, he took off his shirt and turned around, displaying the entry point behind his left armpit.

Michonne took the flashlight and looked for the wound. She found it in no time.

"They opened me down here, though," he said, facing forward and directing her to his left side. "Lori-my wife-she said the bullet traveled."

"How long were you out?"

"About a month."

Michonne tried to imagine it while he put his shirt back on. Go to sleep, essentially, wake up, and everything is different. _Everything_. "What did you do? How…?"

"I can't even explain...the mindfuck, excuse my language. I didn't understand anything that was going on, and that's an understatement. I was the only person in the hospital. Well, the only living person. I came up on some walkers, but I didn't open that door. When I made it outside: bodies. Bodies, bodies, bodies. The _smell_. I thought I was dreaming. But my feet kept hitting the ground, so I kept going. The first time I _saw_ one, a walker...it wasn't even a whole person. It was this half thing crawling on the ground. I took her bike, don't know if it was hers, and I rode home, looking for my wife and Carl. I didn't find them, of course."

Michonne was riveted, especially by the far-off look on his face.

"I actually wondered if I was losing it," he said. "I didn't have anything else to do, so I went to sit outside. I don't know if I was waiting for them, or waiting for something to make sense, or waiting to wake up, or what. But I got one hell of a shovel to the back of my head. That's not an expression," he clarified, looking at her. "Someone hit me in the back of the head with a shovel."

"What? Why?" Michonne asked.

"Morgan's son, Duane. He thought I was a walker."

Michonne remembered Morgan, the crazy man with all of the traps and ammo.

"Morgan saved me. He explained everything. He and Duane were the only people I knew. I set out to find Lori and Carl, but he and Duane were the only people I knew for sure were alive."

"What made you think you could find them?" Michonne asked of his wife and child.

"It occurred to me while I was with Morgan that all of the photo albums were missing from the house. Morgan told me where they could've most likely evacuated to, and I went off. I had to. But I still think about all that had to come together for me to actually find them, the people I had to meet, the coincidences. But I found them, just when I was losing hope. They were in a camp. My friend Shane had gotten them out."

"That's amazing," Michonne murmured.

"Yeah," he said softly.

She watched his forehead tense.

"That other stuff: family man. Ever since my wife died, I keep wondering how much of my former life was real. I keep replaying conversations and gestures, and it's driving me crazy."

At that, he gave her a knowing look, and she smiled.

"A lot of it doesn't feel real," he confessed quietly. "It feels like...it feels like I was an idiot. It feels like I was living a different reality from her and from my...my friend. It feels like things were happening around me, and I had no idea. There was a before for my friend and an after. There was a before for my wife and an after. Me...For some reason, I stick out. The odd man out."

"I killed my friend," he said to her bluntly, but he looked like he thought it the most ridiculous thing to come out of his mouth. "We grew up together. He was the best man at my...and he was Carl's godfather."

He was quiet for a long time, and she never took her eyes from him. She couldn't.

"He tried to kill me," he whispered.

He looked at her then, and he smiled, and it was the most sorrowful thing she'd ever seen.

"He tried to kill me," he said again. "He...he wanted to replace me. I think he thought he already had. He was with my family for a month, let them think I was dead. He was the last person to see me in the hospital, and he didn't let Lori come after me. He thought he'd replaced me. He wanted to. My son. My wife. By his count, they were his. There was an after, you know?

He and Lori...they started somethin' in that month. I...I could tell, but...I understood.

I understood," he repeated quietly, looking at her again. "And it almost got me a bullet in my head. He took me out, walked me around like an animal. Led me. He came up with this cockamamy story. A reason for us to be out in the woods and separated from everyone else. And he had every intention of takin' me out. And taking over my life. Because he thought he could do better than me. He didn't think I was _meant_ for this world.

Only the strong survive, right? He thought that was him."

Michonne had forgotten all about the chips.

"He pulled a gun on me. He had it in my face, and he was determined," he said, and she got the distinct feeling that this was the first time that he was talking about it, and that made her feel...a kinship, a strong one. There was something about Rick Grimes. And other than the slight fuck up where he'd played God with her life, that something kept enduring and getting reaffirmed in both expected and unexpected ways.

"I knew it was gonna happen," he continued. "I walked, I...humored him. But I knew. My best friend. Asking him to be Carl's godfather had been a no-brainer. I stabbed him. Over and over. And when I told Lori, when I told everyone, but especially Lori…

I understood why she and Shane started somethin'. She thought I was dead. But honestly?" he asked, smiling that same sorrowful smile, "I can't remember the last time she waited for me. I can't remember the last time she was patient with me. So, when she told me that she and Shane started something because I'd been gone for a month, my real first thought was: of course, makes sense."

"Why?" she whispered, hearing the self-defeating acceptance in that first thought. "Why was that your first thought?"

It went against everything he seemed to be. Rick Grimes showed up to get things done. Had he showed up in his marriage, too? No matter what was going on, the problems, he'd showed up, a husband?

He looked at her, and she was hitting her limit where that smile was concerned. "It had been like that for so long," he shared. "We weren't in a great place when I got shot. It probably means something that Shane was the last person I remembered when I woke up at the hospital and not her. Not that she didn't come see me," he clarified, "But I have bits and pieces of Shane and none of her. I was trying, because she wanted me to try. She had some complaints, some things that made her unhappy, and they were valid, of course. I could stand to do better, so I would...I would try. And her reaction when I did: I didn't understand. I wonder now if she'd preferred that I didn't try.

I wanted our marriage, Michonne. I loved her. I had a plan. She was it for the rest of my life. Then the plan fell apart in the worst way imaginable. When I found her, I thought that meant we were getting a second chance. I told her that. She agreed. Now, I remember it, and it sounds like she was humoring me. I mean, she was lying to me about Shane. Once again, I was living a different reality. The odd man out.

When I told her that I killed Shane, she looked at me like...I'll never forget that look."

"What was it?" she asked.

"Like I killed him in cold blood. Like I had no reason to kill him. She was disturbed. Disturbed by me. I've known since then that that baby, Judith, despite what she said, despite what she probably wanted to believe...she's not mine.

She asked me what happened, twice, especially since Carl was there when it happened. Shane turned while I had my back to him, and Carl shot him down. No lie, Michonne, I thought he was aiming at me. That would've been just the thing, right? My best friend tries to kill me, and then my son does it?

Lori asked me what happened, but I never told her. It felt like she was asking to humor me.

I don't know what I am, Michonne, but you wanna know?" he asked without looking at her. "That was the most traumatic thing to happen to me, and it feels never-ending. Lori's dead, and...I spent the last couple of months being mad at her, giving her the cold shoulder, only speaking to her when I needed to, and now it feels like I had no right to do that. It feels like, once again, I was doing the wrong thing. I'd sometimes feel like I was doing the wrong thing with Lori, but this is the end all be all. Literally."

"You wanna know?" he asked as he trained pained eyes on her.

"I feel like shit, the lowest shit," he said, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know what I've been doing. I don't know what I've been doing the last...God, six years that we were together? I can't think of anything I've done in the past six years that mattered."

His tears spilled, and her chest tightened. She slowly raised her hand, wondering if putting her thoughts into action was okay, and she gently cupped his cheek.

"I wanna ask you something, and I want you to be honest," she said. He didn't say anything, so she continued. "You keep saying you understood. Did you really? Or did you understand because you thought you were supposed to? Do you think you deserved better? Maybe someone who was willing to try, too?"

"I can't," he strained.

"It's okay," she whispered. "No one knows. It's just me. And I wanna know. I wanna hear. But tell me to fuck off, if you want to," she said with a shaky smile.

He smiled, and it warmed her.

He held onto her wrist with both hands and leaned into her touch. "I can't say things like that yet," he said without looking at her.

Her nose tickling her, and, with unshed tears, she nodded. "I get it. Can I hug you?" she asked.

He nodded, so she stood away from the table without taking her hand off his face, especially since he still held her wrist. "Come on."

He stood, and, for the first time since Andre, she hugged a living person. Real human contact. Rick was warm, and his body stayed warm. Not like Andrea after she'd shot herself. Rick was alive.

"I'm trying with Judith," he said, and it sounded like a promise. "I am."

"Yeah," she said.

She used her body to comfort him, squeezing him tight and rubbing his back, and he returned her squeeze and rubbed her back, and she closed her eyes, feeling utterly important.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: cuckoo91** Rick and Lori's relationship is interesting to me. Hated it, but it's interesting in its unhealthiness for Rick, lol. She didn't even overtly fight Rick. She did it passively. She'd give him a lukewarm agreement, then Shane would come up to her and downsize Rick, and she's agree with him, or passively defend Rick. It'd be one thing if she disagreed with Rick and outright said so AND tried to suggest something better. But she was a flip flopper. Which was detrimental to Rick, smh. I definitely believe that Lori's blame game got to Rick after she died.

Enjoy the new chapter, everyone!

* * *

 **Michonne Warren**

Shortly before daybreak, Rick opened his eyes to the sound of Judith crying. He was in his own bed, having separated from Michonne less than two hours before. He rose onto his elbow, facing the wall, and realized that he'd actually fallen into a deep sleep.

He swung his feet to the floor and went to the baby. He picked her up, supporting her neck, and settled her into the crook of his arm. Wondering who else she was going to wake, he walked over to the cart that held her baby items. He picked up her bottle, uncapped it, and, the moon allowing him to see what he was doing, began the struggle to get her to latch.

He spoke to her in hushed tones while he paced, and, once she latched on to the bottle, his thoughts easily drifted to Michonne. He'd gotten more than he'd bargained for when he'd followed after her earlier. A simple attempt to get to know her, and get on her good side, had ended with him voicing all that he'd been holding on to. He'd spent a year with a couple of the people currently in his group, yet none of them knew him as well as Michonne now knew him, save for Carl.

Michonne Warren. It was the perfect name for a woman who...He didn't know where to begin his thoughts about her.

He started with the most obvious. It was just him, after all. Judith was here, but she was busy eating and couldn't hear his thoughts.

Michonne Warren was hot. She was the hottest woman he'd ever seen in real life. She was beautiful in the most unexpected ways. As if he wasn't already feeling upside down, what with the hallucinations, the last thing he'd ever expected during his grief, heartache, and feeling the lowest he's ever felt in his life, was attraction to another woman. He _noticed_ Michonne. Even if she wasn't in the same room as him, he was always aware of her presence. He always found himself walking by wherever she happened to be.

Trying to get her to come back to the prison had been a no-brainer. Nevermind that he'd fucked up. He wouldn't have let anyone go, but Michonne…

 _You need me_.

She'd said that to him, and while she'd been talking about the Governor, and he didn't quite agree that he _needed_ her, he definitely wanted her around. He wanted to figure her out. He wanted to know her. He didn't know what was at the end of him knowing her, but...She pulled him in. Or rather, he gravitated to her. Maybe both.

He wanted her to forgive him for bargaining with her life. He wanted her to like him.

She made him want to talk, which was a little disconcerting. She also made him want to listen. What he'd learned about her tonight left him floored. She was...again, he failed at coming up with words apt enough to describe her. He hoped that he could conjure up the kind of strength she had to get him out of the state he was in.

But Michonne also wanted. He hadn't been bullshitting when he'd said almost a week ago that she didn't really want to be on her own. He'd pinned that about her during their conversation in the woods.

She was disappointed and hurt by Andrea's decisions regarding the Governor. Then he'd come along and hadn't helped a bit.

He hoped to become her friend.

He shook his head and smiled down at Judith, wondering how pathetic he was to hope for something like that.

But Michonne didn't think he was pathetic.

Did she?

No. He would not go there. He was not going to think that she'd just been humoring him earlier. She had cared. She'd hugged him.

And he thought that hug was surprisingly amazing, now that he was out of his feelings and could reflect on it.

He wanted more of Michonne. More of her beautiful face, more of her time, more of her touch, more of her voice.

He wondered if he should be alarmed by all of these feelings and wants. Was this normal for a widower? His wife had just died, and here he was, obsessing about another woman's existence. Michonne was like a treasure who'd delivered herself to his doorstep.

And she was one hell of an addition to his team. He looked forward to continuing to work with her, to discover what she can do, how she held her own.

Michonne Warren. The name made him think of possibilities. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope, and Michonne had the power to pull him down, yank him off of it, and the fall would be nothing short of glorious.

It was exciting. A little scary. But he didn't want to turn away. Not unless she told him to fuck off. But even then, he might just become more determined to prove himself. He didn't know how she fit in to where he was right now, but she sure as hell was present, and he liked it that way.

Michonne Warren.

He smiled absently and kissed Judith's forehead.

So many possibilities.

* * *

Later, at breakfast, Michonne sat alone with her bowl of dry cereal and two granola bars, as she had been doing since she'd decided to return. Rick's group gave her a wide berth, because they felt guilty on Rick's behalf, and the former Woodbury residents struggled to maintain eye contact, because they all knew by now that she was the one who'd gotten the ball rolling when it came to snatching off their rose-colored glasses regarding their former Governor.

She didn't care, because she didn't see the need for small talk in this desolate world, and she also couldn't imagine what anyone in Rick's group could have to say to her that was important outside of strategy talk, and that went double for the former Woodbury residents.

She expected more of the same this morning, so she wasn't prepared when Maggie claimed the seat across from her.

"Good mornin'," Maggie greeted.

"Morning," she returned.

"I don't mean to take up your space or anythin'. I'll leave if you want me to. I just...I wanted to come to you with somethin' more than _I'm sorry_. About you expandin' to other towns and cities to search for the Governor, I think you and Daryl should seriously think about doin' it on horseback instead of in a car. It's a lot more practical to feed a horse than to scavenge for gas. You won't have to deal with possible mechanical breakdowns or a flat tire. The downside is that you'll be covering ground at a slower pace, but I think it would benefit you and the prison in the long run, because we could keep all of the cars and gas here in case of an emergency and for group runs. What do you think?"

Michonne liked the idea, despite the downside. Except, "I don't know how to ride a horse."

Maggie was visibly relieved. "I was hopin' you'd say that. I can teach you."

Michonne's mouth twitched, because it was hard not to want to smile when faced with Maggie's wide, excited grin. Still, she broke her granola bar into pieces while weighing her options.

"I really am sorry," Maggie said. "I know we didn't have anythin' to do with Rick's decision. I didn't. But he's our leader, and he did it for us, and that makes us responsible for him. That makes me responsible. I want you to know that we're not the type of people...we're not selfish like that. We don't sacrifice others to save our own ass. I mean, God, we took Merle back. I didn't know him before he kidnapped me, but...we took him in after what he did.

Rick is a good man. He really is. He's been going through a lot, and I know that's not an excuse, but I think it does matter. He's under a lot of pressure all of the time, and with the death of his wife, and a new baby...I think...he became misguided for a little bit. I think he became desperate. Maybe that means that we should've done a better job of looking after him.

But the point is, you got caught in the crosshairs, and that shouldn't have happened. And I promise you that it will _never_ happen again. The Governor will _not_ lay a hand on you. Not if I have anything to say about it. As a matter of fact, I wanna go with you when you leave."

"Okay, we don't need to…" Michonne chuckled. "Let's not go that far. Apology accepted."

"I'm serious. I wanna go with you."

"Maggie…"

"Y'all wouldn't be draggin' me behind you."

"I don't think that. But I've seen your father. I've heard your father. And I think that would be a losing fight for you. Not to mention Glenn."

"They can voice their opinion, but they can't stop me from goin'."

Michonne carefully worded what she said next. "I think revenge-"

"No," Maggie cut her off firmly. "I wanna go to protect the prison. You wanna go to protect your life. Right? Neither's wrong. And the satisfaction that I'll feel if we happen to find him and kill him won't be wrong either."

"No, it won't," Michonne agreed. "What I meant was: I don't know how you handle your revenge. I don't want it to end up putting my life in danger."

"It won't," Maggie assured her. "But first we gotta get you on a horse."

* * *

After Maggie left, Carl sat at the table with his breakfast while she had her head down.

"Hello," Michonne greeted him when she looked up.

"Hi," he returned, and he set to eating his dry cereal like they did this every day.

Mildly amused, Michonne watched him until he looked up at her.

"What?" he asked.

"Does your dad know where you are?"

"Yeah. I told him I wanted to sit with you last night, and he said I could as long as it was okay with you. Isn't it?"

"It's fine," she answered with a small smile, noticing the hint of vulnerability on his face. She gave Judith a wide berth, because she triggered terrible memories, but Carl intrigued her. He was a little ball of anger, and every word out of his mouth reeked with defiance, especially when he was talking to his father. Grief wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, weighing down his small body, yet, still, he tried to stand as tall as he could.

"I never checked back with you to see how Judith was liking the picture," she said.

His eyes softened a bit at the mention of his new baby sister. "She likes it. I thought you were gonna give that thing to her," he said curiously.

She frowned, but then she remembered. "Oh, the paper mache cat." She chuckled. "No, that's for me. It's so interesting."

"It's weird," Carl squinted.

"It's _art_. It's beautiful. And it...adds character to my cell."

"You like that stuff? Art?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I did. Paintings, sculptures. I went to museum exhibits all the time, before. I'm an expert pottery maker. I've even taken a couple of glass blowing classes. For the past three years, before this happened, I made little glass ornaments for my Christmas tree in those classes. What did you like?"

Carl shrugged. "Video games. And baseball. I did Tee-Ball, and then I was in the Minor Leagues. My...my dad coached my Tee-Ball team. I liked playing. I got really good."

"Yeah? What was your position?"

"Second baseman," he said, trying not to beam.

"I don't know anything about baseball except first base, second base, third base, pitcher, and...oh God, what's the other one? Catcher," she related honestly. "And the umpire. So you'll have to bear with me. What was your best game?"

By the time he finished regaling her about his best game, he _was_ beaming. She was so taken by this side of him, a smile having long bloomed on her own face, that she didn't notice when Rick came into the cafeteria with Judith and began watching them.

When her eyes happened to land on him, he gave her a tiny smile and a nod, and her stomach fluttered. Memories of their soul-bearing conversations the night before rushed back. The feelings that came with them were so vivid and so palpable that she felt like his lips were mere inches from hers, right there in the large cafeteria.

After they'd bid each other goodnight, she'd slept better than she had since Andrea's death. Upon waking up that morning, she'd wondered what it would be like to see him again after everything they'd revealed. She'd even pondered the possibility that he might regret confiding so much in her.

"He shouldn't have given you up," Carl said.

It took her a second to realize he'd spoken. "What?"

"My dad. You're staring at him. He shouldn't have given you up. It was a bad decision. It was stupid."

"Yes, it was," she agreed, forcing herself not to look Rick's way again.

"It was a stupid decision to bring all those people here, too."

"That remains to be seen," she said carefully.

"They attacked us," Carl reminded her.

"Most of them didn't. And they were all lied to."

"They-"

"You probably can't imagine what that's like, because your dad's an honest man, right? Right?"

Petulant, Carl shrugged instead of answering.

Looking very serious, Michonne said, "So, you're telling me that if something doesn't go his way, he'll shoot everyone in here? I mean, he did want to give me up to the Governor, knowing he'd probably kill me. Maggie tried to tell me that he, your dad, made the decision because he was under a lot of pressure, but you're telling me that there's actually no difference between him and-"

"No, no," Carl quickly interrupted. "My dad is _nothing_ like that guy. He's not perfect, but...he's not him. He gives people chances. Obviously," he muttered. "I was the one who told him to let you stay, and he agreed. He's...he likes to think things through. What he did with the Governor...it was weird. He's not supposed to do things like that. He doesn't. And I'm mad that he did."

Michonne nodded. "I was mad, too. Still kind of am. A little. But he and I talked last night. He actually came to find me to make sure I was okay. I've been having a hard time since Andrea died. I was holding all of that in and dealing with it by myself, and I thought I always would. But your dad...he asked me to talk. He wanted to listen." She shrugged. "It was good. Which is why I'm only kind of mad, now."

"Why did you come back?" Carl asked. "I'm glad you did, but why did you?"

"He promised me that nothing would happen to me. He had to say that a couple of times, but...I decided to give it another shot, still watching my back. I _understand_ why your dad did what he did. I understand the desperation. But it was also my life. It's complicated. And I was pissed."

"I wanted to go with him and Daryl to find you, but he wouldn't let me."

She smiled. "Do you think I would've agreed to come back faster if you'd been there?"

Carl smiled. "Maybe."

"It was your dad's mess, and he needed to clean it up."

"That's what he said," Carl revealed.

Just then, the man in question approached their table with his baby and their breakfast and said, "Good morning," to her.

"Good morning," she responded, her stomach fluttering, not just because of him but because of Judith. She mentally told her stomach to stop.

"Can I join you? Both of you?" he amended as he glanced at his son.

Carl looked to her for an answer.

"Yeah," she answered, feeling out of breath, yet pleased that he wasn't acting like last night didn't happen. As weird as the thought still was, maybe trying with him wouldn't be a colossal mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** TheNextPage I'm so happy you're reading this! I always love your reviews!

* * *

 **The Club**

 _One month and a half later_

A warm early morning breeze tried valiantly to ruffle Michonne's thick locs as she made her way from the prison down the gravelly path to where, she knew, Rick was in the process of creating a vegetable garden with coaching from Hershel and Maggie.

He'd told her about the project as soon as she'd come back from her latest search for the Governor two days ago.

" _So, let me get this straight: you actually found a project to work on at the end of the world. Men."_

" _It's a plan. I make this work, and I can sustain us. And I will make it work."_

His determination was the cause of her smile now. She knew that everyone was worried about him. She always made a point to ask Daryl, Maggie and Carl about him when she returned, and they were concerned about the fact that he'd decided to put his gun down. Carl felt that he was avoiding the unavoidable. Maggie was more worried than Carl and Daryl. Daryl felt that he would pick up his gun when he was ready.

She agreed with Daryl.

When she'd broached the subject with Rick, he'd told her that he didn't need the gun right now. He was convinced that the Governor was gone. That had prompted her to ask him a very important question.

" _What if he isn't? What if he comes back? What if someone else finds us, and they want what we have?"_

" _Then I'll pick it up. I'm workin' on sustainability here, remember? I'm not gonna let anybody take it from us."_

She'd seen the nuance in his eyes and in the subtle wobbling of his smile. He would pick up the gun if he needed to. But he really, really did not want to.

They talked regularly when she was around. She'd shared with him the significance of her necklace. The M stood for Michonne. Mike had given it to her a week after she'd given birth to Andre. Naturally, like everyone did after they heard the story, Rick asked why Mike hadn't given her an A for Andre.

" _Everyone asks that. He gave me the M, because I was a superhero. We wanted to get pregnant with Andre, and before that happened I had fully brought him around to the majesty, sacrifice and danger involved in a woman growing a whole baby in her body and then bringing it out to the world. I wasn't gonna get pregnant with him thinking it's a cake walk. So he gave me this as a sign of appreciation, love and admiration. His words. It's the only physical thing I have left of Andre. He loved to grab it, try to put it in his mouth when he was a baby, and playing with it when he was a toddler."_

Rick had asked her if he could touch it, and a charged silence had passed between them. When he'd started to apologize, she'd cut him off with a yes.

Talking to Rick was addicting. That was a new one for her. She wanted to tell him everything, like he was some kind of recorder. She liked watching his face for a reaction. She liked how curious he was about her. She liked his questions. She liked answering.

And she liked learning about him. He'd told her about the time he and Lori almost lost Carl to a gunshot wound. He'd walked her through the detailed, and at times harrowing, journey of finding his family after he'd left Morgan and Duane, including the moment when he almost took his own life in a tanker.

Rick was an open, complex book, and it was so refreshing.

Nevertheless, they both felt a certain shyness whenever they started to answer the other's questions. They felt it whenever they volunteered something about themselves, about their past. It was a shyness that asked:

 _Are you really listening?_

 _Do you really wanna know?_

 _Do you really care?_

Every return to the prison guaranteed at least one four-hour conversation with Rick, made possible by the fact that they usually patrolled the fences together.

And now she was swinging her arms as she approached him, and she wanted to force herself to stop, but it felt so good to let go and enjoy how his presence made her feel.

He was digging up dirt, so she slowed her step to feast. He had the perfect body for her fantasies. Her favorite part was his hips. His torso tapered down nicely into his hips. He wore a t-shirt that allowed her to see his muscles flex every time he lifted the shovel full of dirt. She watched his strong legs carry him over to a blue tarp, where he deposited the dirt.

He turned to her without warning and smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," she greeted. It was then that she realized that she'd stopped walking completely.

"Come on," he beckoned, gesturing for her to come closer.

She swallowed to alleviate her watery mouth and moved her legs.

To buy time while she composed herself, she said hi to Scout, her horse, as she walked by her.

She probably wouldn't get so deep into admiring Rick if she'd just give in and masturbate. But she refused to indulge. The man was her friend. Her very, very attractive friend. And he was still a new widower.

Her sexy widower friend, whose beard was steadily growing in, handed her a shovel with a wide, open grin on his handsome face, and she laughed. "I feel like I have to temper your excitement a little bit," she said as she accepted the shovel.

"What do you mean?" he asked, still smiling.

"I said I'd help, but I don't know if I'm a down in the dirt person. I'm actually positive that I'm not."

"You'll cut down walkers, but you don't like dirt?"

"It's _dirt_. It gets _everywhere_ , and-"

"That's sand," he corrected.

"Same difference. And I don't have to tell you that cutting down walkers is a necessity, not leisure," she said as she glanced behind him to the row of walkers desperately pushing against the fence outer fence.

"This isn't either," he defended as he looked down at the future garden bed. "What we're doin' is a necessity for survival. We're going back to basics. What we're doin', what _we_ are doing," he repeated for emphasis as he gestured between him and her, "is digging out subsoil. I've dug out the grass, and I've dug out the topsoil. Hershel recommends double-digging, so we're gonna dig out the subsoil and throw 'em on these tarps."

Michonne looked over at the three blue tarps. One of them had some soil on it, because Rick had already started. Next to them were three more blue tarps filled with dirt. She guessed that that was the topsoil. Further down were three more blue tarps filled with grass, dirt, and other undesirables.

"So we're doing all of this," she stated flatly, sweeping her palm across the large bed by the inner fence.

"Yes," he nodded. "The sun won't be blazing for a couple hours more, but feel free to give up when you need to."

"I will absolutely hold you to that," she said, taking his jab in stride.

He gave her the gloves that Maggie usually used, and she followed him to the garden bed and began to work.

"So, did you like the beach?" Rick asked.

"Yes," she answered as she carried dirt to the tarp.

"I'm askin', because you don't like stuff that gets everywhere."

"Sand's the worst part about the beach," she confirmed, and he laughed. "Gimme a beach chair any day."

"Oh, come on! Part of the experience is laying on the sand, with just a towel or sheet separating you. Don't tell me you'd bring an umbrella, too."

"Sometimes," she admitted begrudgingly with a shoulder shrug.

"My God, you're unbelievable," he chuckled as he walked to the tarp. "To think, Carl thinks you're so cool. I'm gonna tell him about this. Why did you bother going?"

"To get in the water, Richard," she defended amiably, rolling her neck.

He didn't see her neck roll, but the formality made him laugh. "What's your middle name?" he asked with a glance at her.

"Elodie. Why?"

"Really?" he asked, stopping what he was doing. "That's...that's beautiful. It's nice. Michonne Elodie Warren. I'll need it for when _you_ say something crazy."

"I _never_ sound crazy," she said, chuckling as she returned to the garden bed. Rick raised his eyebrows high and dipped his head toward her, signaling that they both knew that was a lie, and she laughed harder.

"It's not nice to make fun of the mentally unstable," she chastised.

"It is when you're in the same club," he disagreed pleasantly.

When he turned to shovel more subsoil, she marvelled at her stroke of luck. How fortuitous was it to find someone with whom she could form a club. The walkers mindlessly salivated at them from the outer fence. Somewhere, she was convinced, a sociopathic murderer lay in hiding. She'd lost the friend she'd managed to make after the most traumatic event of her life. But here she stood, part of a two-person club, having her regular club meeting with Rick.

"Hey. Wanna let me in on it?"

She blinked out of her musings and focused on him. His shovel was full, and he'd stopped on his way to the tarp, where she stood. "What?"

"You're smiling," he said as he resumed walking. "Wondering if you wanna share whatever it is."

She rolled her eyes, although she couldn't stop her smile. "It's nothing. Just...thinking about how nice it is to be part of a club again."

He dumped the subsoil. His body faced the prison and the life stirring inside of it while hers faced the fences and the walkers trying to get inside.

He looked at her and said, "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Silence. And then there it was. Attraction sparked and charged the space between them with secret thoughts and things unsaid. It thickened and weighed down the veil of propriety that covered their friendship.

Rick lowered his eyes to her lips, and Michonne blinked hard to snap herself out of it, and she left him abruptly to return to the garden bed. The breeze that floated by her actually felt cool on her heated skin.

"The _best_ thing about going to the beach is the water," she said, resuming their first conversation while her heart fluttered swiftly in her chest. "Nothing brought me hope like standing at the edge of the ocean and realizing, _accepting_ , and _comprehending_ that the surf that touched my feet was only the beginning. That it was so much longer and so much _deeper_ than what I had access to. Going to the beach was a renewal thing for me. Whenever I got overwhelmed or I doubted myself, I'd go there or put on an ocean wave audio, and I would calm down. The beach, the ocean, it's nothing but possibilities."

"Possibilities, huh?" Rick asked.

It sounded like he was still standing by the tarps. She tried not to consider the likelihood that he was watching her. "Yeah," she answered as she dug her shovel in the soil and scooped. "I'd tell myself that I can't get bogged down by what I can see and feel. I'd remind myself that I'm not as limited as I think I am."

"That's good," he said.

With his country accent, he couldn't help but drag the second word a little. _Good._

She'd met plenty of country boys. Hell, she'd had plenty in her family. But she'd never known one who sounded quite like Rick. His voice sometimes made her shiver.

"What about you?" she asked. "I know you're a sand person, but were you a water person?"

When she turned for the tarp, he started for the garden bed.

"I liked the ocean. It was always nice," he shared. "Far as what kind of person I was? I loved the woods. I loved huntin' and fishin'-"

"Oh, wow, a good 'ole boy," she droned.

"You're shocked?" he asked, grinning as he pivoted with a full shovel.

"Absolutely not. The way you talk, the way you handle guns, the way you walk?"

"How do I walk?" he asked as he dumped the soil.

The question was unexpected. Many possible answers swam through her mind. Ultimately, she couldn't come up with a platonic response. Her grin widened, and she left him to pick up more subsoil.

"What I wouldn't have taken you for when I first met you was a farmer," she admitted. "But watching you now, and thinking back on some of the things you've said, it makes complete sense."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked as he joined her and dug his shovel in.

"No," she said, shrugging with her tone.

"I told you I met Hershel and his family at his house, right, that we camped there for a while? It was a farm house. Beautiful, beautiful land. Acres and acres. It had a windmill, a barn, _five_ wells, it was by a _creek_. Oh my God, you should've seen it. The house itself was...it was stunning," he said reverently. "It was in his family for one hundred sixty years. _One hundred sixty_."

Michonne was smiling. They were facing each other, and his admiration of Hershel's property was downright adorable. "Sounds like a sight."

"You should've seen it," he sighed contently. Then he sobered. "It's probably overrun with walkers now. Then again, they've probably moved on by now."

"One hundred sixty years, huh? Sounds sketchy."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"One hundred sixty years right here in Georgia? I _mean_ a slave or fifty probably kept up those acres and acres so they could be a beautiful land today."

"Oh, yeah, right. Probably. It could've been a stop on the Underground Railroad."

Michonne stared at him and blinked. "You think so?" she asked subtly, her disinterest apparent.

Shaking his head, Rick said, "Probably not." Smiling, he tilted his head toward the tarp.

Michonne rolled her eyes at him, and they crossed over. "Every White person's dream, though: that their ancestors were part of the Underground Railroad."

"Not me. My aunts are, were, members of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, and so was my mom until I was about...fifteen, I think? So I know exactly which side we were on. Members have to have proof of their ancestor or ancestors actively supporting the confederacy during the war, so. Even if we didn't own slaves, we probably wanted to."

"Wow. Okay. I've never known one of you, or at least I was never aware that I did. Sounds like Carl and Judith would've had something to look forward to."

"Not Judith. Technically, she'd be my adoptive daughter, and you have to be a blood descendant. And I wouldn't let Carl go near that or the Sons of Confederate Veterans. It's just...it's too much delusion about what they're celebrating."

"Meaning?" she probed.

"They wanna preserve the memories of people who fought for liberty and freedom and celebrate loyalty to country without acknowledging everything that those qualities encompassed. They fought to preserve the institution of _slavery_ , because that's what upheld the South, literally. Why do you think, not you specifically, but this region as a whole is collectively poorer than the North now?

Things were changin' at the federal level, and the South didn't want it. The Daughters do volunteer work and all that, but I think if talking about the truth, _all of it_ , changes the desire to preserve and all that, then somethin's wrong with the motivation, you know?"

Michonne nodded.

"And it's other things. I remember asking my mom once why, if it was about love of country and loyalty, why couldn't anybody join? Why did you have to prove yourself? Why did bloodline matter?"

"I mean," Michonne began as they walked in sync toward the tarp. "If you wanna talk about tradition, ain't nothing more traditionally Southern White than concern with purity of blood and lineage. At least in polite company," she said pointedly in a demure southern accent.

Rick caught her point and tilted his head in agreement, because they both knew that the same sticklers for purity of blood, especially back then, would quietly set that aside when they wanted to be "adventurous" or just downright cruel.

"I gotta tell you, I started to question my membership in this club when you mentioned the Daughters," she revealed. "Still kind of am."

"Then for the sake of full disclosure: I applied for and got a scholarship from the Daughters when it was time for me to go to college. Hey," he said, stopping her as they were once again headed for the tarp. "I don't wanna say I'm not like that, 'cause I don't wanna sound stupid. But I don't believe in any of that stuff: the purity, the Confederacy, the war. I know what happened. I don't mind a historical preservation thing, because I think preservin' history's good, but...the _whole_ thing, you know? Preserve the _real_ thing, not the delusion that makes us look like martyrs."

Michonne slowly nodded. She wasn't sure how her face was coming across, but he suddenly looked unsure of himself as he proceeded.

"I understand if...I understand. Like I said, I don't share in those beliefs, and I really don't want you to disappear on me or fade away. I really, really don't want you to. But I understand if you do."

"Fuck off, right?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yeah," he nodded, lowering his head.

"I hear you," she began. "And it sounds good. Clearly we have different backgrounds on this, and our families have different histories. Duh. And I'm not begrudging you that at all, and I'm not begrudging what you had access to, especially since, like I said, you sound good. I just don't want any surprises. I don't...I don't wanna be disappointed. Not like that. I mean, my God, you already tried to kill me."

He looked unsure of whether or not he was supposed to chuckle, and she liked that. "You only get _one_ ," she said.

He nodded. "I promise you: you don't have anything to worry about. You're safe."

She nodded. "Okay. Then consider me still in the club."

"It ain't a club if you're not in it. Can't have a one-person club."

They continued to work quietly, but comfortably.

Michonne held out for an hour, and then she resigned.

"I warned you," she said playfully.

"Right," Rick nodded with an awkward chuckle. "It's fine. You did your best."

He took her gloves off for her. She didn't need him to. He hadn't helped her put them on. But he lessened the space between them, tucked his shovel into the crook of his arm, and held both of her hands so that he was the one who took the gloves off.

He held both of her naked hands in his. He looked up and asked, "Do you forgive me?"

Michonne was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. "For what?"

"For what I did. For agreeing to give you to the Governor. You've never said anything and-"

He lowered his head. He squeezed her hands over and over. He shook his head, but blink as he did, there were tears in his eyes when he briefly looked beyond her.

He reddened before her eyes.

"You've never said anything, and I haven't taken that to mean that you've forgiven me, so…"

Michonne smiled. "I forgive you, Rick. I don't joke about shit I'm still pissed about. I would _not_ be talking to you this whole time if I still thought you were scum."

He did smile then, but he let go of her hands and turned from her when she tilted her head to try and catch his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed," he said, his voice strained.

She watched him try to breathe through it as he wiped away tears with his forearm.

She thought of a host of things she could do to comfort him, all of them including touching him, and she wasn't sure if anything of them were right. It's been a month and a half since she first hugged him in the cafeteria, a month and a half since he first hugged her. Those had obviously been highly emotional moments, and they haven't really touched each other like that since.

"I'm glad you've been thinking about it this whole time," she said. "It makes me think I made the right choice to forgive you, like I'm not the only one who thinks that what you did was some serious shit."

"I am sorry," he said. "So sorry."

"I know. I believe you."

Mentally saying fuck it, she walked up to him and gently laid her hands on his shoulders. She took a chance and squeezed. They were tight, and she now wondered what had been going through his mind when they'd been working in silence. His comment about not wanting her to disappear or fade away from him echoed in her head.

"I've been believing you this whole time, Rick. Do you want me to stay out here with you to prove it?" she asked.

His shoulders shook from his chuckle.

"You know what? Let's do it. Give me back my gloves," she said as she walked around to face him.

"No," he said definitively.

"Yes," she grabbed them, but he resisted.

"You don't wanna be out here. Go inside."

"I'm making a point."

"Michonne-"

"Give me."

"Point taken, okay? I believe you."

"Let go."

"I don't want you-"

"To do anything I don't wanna do?" she finished for him.

His chest caved in with a smile at that. "Yeah. And I mean it."

"So do I. I'm not leaving you, not like this."

"I'm-"

"It's not pity," she cut him off. "Or anything else you're thinking. I don't want to leave right now. Don't think I'm being completely altruistic, because...well, I like talking to you, and I think doing that on patrol is just fine, and there's no need to fix what ain't broke, but, today, I'm doing the whole thing. Let's finish digging up this subsoil."

She raised her eyebrows and waited.

"Fine," he relented, releasing his hold on the gloves.

"I don't say things I don't mean, Rick," she said, looking him straight in the eyes as she slipped her gloves on. "I don't play those games. I hope you don't, either."

"I don't."

"Good. Then we shouldn't have any problems believing each other when we say something. Right?"

"Right," he agreed with a small smile.

She went to pick up her shovel where she'd set it down, but he let out a sound and gestured for her to stop, and he bent over and picked it up for her.

"Thanks. Let's do this."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for updating so late! I had no time to do a final read-through and upload at work. I hope the chapter makes up for it!

 **TheNextPage,** you guessed correctly! In addition to Merle and Ed, there was also Daryl early on, and the guys who wanted to rape Carl and Michonne. And don't forget Pete! Humanity's ugliness didn't disappear with the apocalypse, but I'll let him cook.

Thank you for reading and reviewing, everyone!

* * *

 **To Stay**

After they dug out all of the subsoil, Rick directed her to mix up the grass, leaves, dirt, and other undesirables on the other tarps with the subsoil while he mixed them with the topsoil. He said that the undesirables were going to serve as organic fertilizer.

When they'd resumed shoveling the subsoil, she'd purposely kept the conversation light. They'd shot the shit, their conversational topics ridiculous, silly, and funny. She wasn't sure if it was because of the recent loss in his life, but he had a very dry, very dark humor. It cracked her up. On the other hand, her potty mouth seemed to both scandalize him and excite him.

They eventually quieted down, and she retreated into her mind.

Now, she finished mixing the fertilizer with the subsoil and straightened to ask him what came next. That was when she saw that he wasn't done and that he'd stopped working.

"What?" she asked.

"I think we're done for today," he drawled.

She frowned, only to discover that she was already frowning. "I can keep going," she stated.

"So can I, and I really...I really want to. I kept waiting for you to say you were done, but you never did, but...I think this is all good for today. Sun's gettin' higher."

"Rick, I can keep going," she insisted.

He observed her a moment.

"What?" she asked a bit tightly.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You've been frownin' for the past ten minutes. You're thinkin' about somethin' again. Wanna tell me?"

Michonne rolled her eyes at herself. "Are we really done?" she asked.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

She lowered her eyes and shook her head.

"I keep a bucket of water out here. We can wash our hands," he said.

She took her gloves off and followed him to the small office, which he'd turned into a shed, and they stored the gloves and shovels. She then followed him to the bucket, bent at the waist and scooped out water to rinse her hands.

"I'll give Scout a wash for you before you head out next," Rick said.

Michonne looked at him, and she let him catch her doing it.

"What? Don't want a clean horse?" he joked.

She shook her head. "I'm just wondering something for the hundredth time." How he could hit on what she was thinking with such accuracy.

She straightened and waited for him to start heading for the prison. Instead, he asked, "You're not gonna tell me what's going on? You're still frowning, you know."

She inhaled, released it, and relaxed her forehead in the process. She began heading back to the prison, and he fell into step beside her. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Leaving."

"I was hoping to be more interesting than the Governor," he joked affably, earning him a sideways look from her.

"Three days," he said, speaking of the length of time before she left.

"Yeah, and I'm thinking about cutting it shorter. The more I stay here, the more distance he puts between us."

"It has to make sense for you to come back here," he pointed out.

"Right, coming back for two or three days doesn't make sense. It's not worth the trek back. So maybe I should just stay out, stay out until I find him."

He stopped walking, so she turned to face him.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said, and she detected an edge in his tone. "Are you serious?"

"It's worth considering."

"No, it isn't, because then you're just out there. Then you're just looking for him with nothing to come back to."

Her heart sped up nervously at that. _Nothing to come back to_.

"What's going on? Where is this coming from? Is this something you've been thinking about this whole time?"

"No, Rick," she said, holding her hands up to stop his barrage of questions, which were overwhelming her. "I'm just thinking about what's best, wondering if I've been going about this the wrong way."

His eyes bore into her, and she grew uncomfortable.

"I feel like I'm missin' somethin'," he said, his eyes narrowed. "I feel like you're lyin' to me."

She shook her head and left him.

"Stop," he ordered.

She stopped immediately, her stomach fluttering. She turned and said, "I'm _protecting_ us, remember?"

"You know what I wish? I wish you'd stick around long enough to get to know what it is you're protectin'. Every time you come back, there's at least one new face. Do you even know half these people?"

That gave her pause. Then she said, "I know the ones I need to," and she turned to leave again.

" _Stop,_ Michonne," he gruffly ordered again.

She did, and she asked herself why the hell she did. "Stop telling me that," she countered as she faced him.

He exhaled, obviously composing himself. "I shouldn't have said that about not knowing the new ones," he said as he lessened the space between them. "I meant it, but...the truth is that every time I see you all driven and convinced and focused, it makes me wonder if I'm not makin' a mistake by not bein' out there with you."

She softened at that. "You have to make sure we can sustain ourselves here. That's your job. I'm serious," she said when he scoffed. "I think what you're doing is important, despite my jokes. And I know that as soon as I find him, you'll be leading the charge. If I can't kill him myself, that is."

"What would make you...stop?" he asked.

Michonne observed him for a beat. "You think I'm chasing a ghost?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you think it."

" _I'm_ not sure," he said emphatically.

"And Daryl calling it quits probably doesn't help my case. It's a _feeling_ , Rick," she argued. "I can't bring myself to believe that a man like the Governor just disappears."

"He might be dead," Rick said.

"It feels dangerous to believe that," she responded.

Rick nodded. "I can't argue with you wantin' to protect us. I know what it it is to have a gut feeling, good and bad."

Michonne nodded. She admired the fact that he could understand even though he apparently disagreed.

She looked beyond him, at the work they'd just done. The soil was dark. It looked so rich. She'd taken her gloves off at one point and pressed her palms against it, to feel what she was working on.

She looked around them. They were surrounded by light green grass of various heights. Healthy grass.

"Why is the grass so green?" she asked, her eyes on the subject.

"A drip irrigation system runs through most of the soil. Hershel had a hunch about it, and then he found them. It's like a sprinkler, but the water seeps right into the soil. The timer kept running after everything went down, but once the prison lost power…"

"Right. It'd be a shame for them to die."

"They won't," he promised. "No dead things near the garden. 'Xcept for them," he said, gesturing at the walkers pushing up on the fence.

Michonne watched them. They kept doing the same thing, not realizing that it wasn't working, not even realizing that there was an obstacle in their way, really.

She hoped that that wasn't what she was doing with the Governor. But she knew that _something_ wasn't working.

"Give me a tour," she said, her eyes settling on Rick.

"Of what?"

"The prison. I honestly don't know it. You're right. I've only been to the places I needed to, but I don't know everything that we have here. I don't know what this place was or is. So show me."

He nodded. His lips twitched into a smile as he walked to her, and she smiled, too.

* * *

Rick was sure that they looked silly. He'd offered his arm to her like a gentleman, and she'd taken it, pursing her lips in an attempt to control her smile.

He started outside. He walked the perimeter with her, showed her the delivery area, and then he took her to the exercise yard. During this time, he told her how long it'd taken them to find the prison and the concerted effort it had taken to clear it out and make it livable.

Next, they went inside. He showed her all of the offices, the staff breakroom, the infirmary, and the library, where she took time to browse the books while telling him about how she'd once racked up a fifty-dollar library fine. He showed her the quarters for the overnight staff, the former armory, the warden's office, and the laundry room.

They toured the visiting area where the prisoners once interacted with friends and family, the security room, and all of the available cell blocks.

They came upon people and passed them by. The only one who didn't look confused was Hershel. Hershel smiled. Daryl signaled him to ask what the hell was going on, but he acted like he didn't see him. Carl joined them for part of the tour, although he didn't ask why it was happening.

"What do you think about helping me out in the garden once I get it going?" Rick asked him.

Walking next to Michonne, Carl answered, "Uh, I don't? I don't think about it."

Rick watched Michonne twist her mouth to keep from smiling. "Well, I want you to," he said.

Carl sighed and gave his father a long sideways look. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"It'll be good for you," Rick said. "It'll teach you some responsibility."

Carl stopped walking. "I'm already responsible, dad."

"I meant a _different_ kind of responsibility," Rick elaborated as he and Michonne stopped, hoping that his careless words weren't going to incite yet another tense moment between him and his son. "Michonne helped me this morning, and she liked it," he said, looking to her for some assistance.

Michonne gave Carl a sideways look. "It was aight."

Carl smiled.

"It wasn't easy, but it was fun," she said with a shrug. "It was definitely worthwhile. I think he's doing a good thing," she said, looking at Rick. "It's hard work," she said to Carl. "But we finished, and I really feel like I did something. Protecting the prison isn't just about guns and fighting. You can do both. And your dad's good company."

Rick watched his son contemplate what Michonne said.

"I was still hoping you wouldn't ask me," Carl muttered to him, and Rick smiled. "But I'll help you."

"Thank you," Rick said.

"I'm leaving now, though," Carl said. "Patrick's writing a play, and he wants me to read what he has."

"Who's Patrick?" Michonne asked.

"He's one of the new people. He's cool, I guess," he shrugged. "He likes medieval stuff. The play's really good so far. I gotta go," he said to his dad and Michonne.

"Bye," Michonne said as Rick nodded.

Carl backed away, then turned and left.

Michonne slipped her hand from Rick's arm and crossed them as she faced him. "I didn't know he had a new friend."

"He won't replace you," Rick teased.

She rolled her eyes. She looked down the hall as Carl put more distance between them. "You're right. I don't know the people here."

"We brought Patrick's group in while you were gone this last round. Hey, thanks for helping," he said as he nodded his head in Carl's direction.

"I know he's serious, and he's going through a lot, but his little squint is too cute. That hat is almost wearing him."

"I feel like most of what I say to him comes out wrong. Or he just takes it wrong. Wait until I tell him I want him to put his gun away."

Michonne cringed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, he...he's too reliant on it. That's why I'm glad you said guns aren't the only way to protect the prison."

He'd told Michonne about his fears for Carl, stemming from, among other things, Hershel's account of him shooting down a teenager from Woodbury.

"You want me to be there for that conversation?" she asked.

He smiled and was almost distracted by how beautiful she looked. "No, I can handle it."

"You're going through the same loss," she said. "That can make talking a little difficult."

"Things weren't great between him and Lori before she died either. He had some anger. I...I actually don't know where it came from."

"Maybe that's something you can talk to him about when you're both gardening. Kids aren't...as oblivious as we tend to think they are."

Rick nodded, his thoughts on Carl. They'd had a conversation after Carl had shot Shane. Rick hadn't explained everything, that Shane had very purposely wanted to kill him, because, he hadn't wanted to sully Carl's image of Shane. He hadn't known what to say. He wasn't sure that he did now. But maybe they could talk about Lori. That should be safe enough ground.

He focused on Michonne and said, "I'm glad he can talk to you. Really. I'm glad he has an outlet. You've got the whole stranger thing working for you, but I'm glad for it."

She smiled. "I didn't wanna say anything while he was with us, but...I've seen things while I've been out there. Well, not _things_ , but-"

Rick burst into laughter, which caused her to break down laughing. "Do you think there's something wrong with us for laughing about this?" he asked as he tried to sober up.

"You know what? If there is, then let it be. At least we're not laughing by ourselves."

Adopting a serious facade, he said, "Mmm, yeah, yeah that wouldn't be good."

"Hey, laughter is its own medicine," she said.

And he liked taking that medicine with her.

"What I _mean_ is that I like to read while I'm out there. Find a book, grab a book. I've developed an affinity for, ahem, comic books?"

Rick raised his eyebrows.

"They tell great stories," she said, pointing a stern finger at him. "Anyways, I've thought about bringing him some back, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries. He seems to be excited about Patrick's story."

"Bring them to him," Rick said. "Please. He's a reader. He was. I mean, he hasn't been paying the library any mind since we got here, but between you and Patrick, maybe he can start back up."

"I have a stash in my cell. I've been bringing them with me. I can show them to him and let him pick out the ones he likes."

He didn't know how to thank her. "That would be great. Thank you."

She nodded.

They continued with the tour, her hand back on his arm.

He didn't care about the looks from the people they passed. She was leaving in three days, and this was an opportunity to spend more time with her, to be in her presence. He still felt that there was something she was not telling him. Her frown earlier told him that something was weighing heavily on her mind.

They rejoined Carl, and Judith, in the cafeteria for lunch, and then she told him that she wanted to go back to the garden.

* * *

Michonne took it upon herself to wrap her hand around his bicep again when they stepped outside. She looked at him to see if he perhaps objected to being touched in such a manner now that the tour was officially over, only to find him turning his head to look at her.

She quickly looked away. She smiled, because he'd quickly looked away, too, and that made her wonder what he'd been thinking about. She furtively glanced at him again. Although he'd suddenly found something interesting in the opposite direction of her face, she could tell by the indentation of his chiseled cheeks that he was smiling.

She really liked spending time with him. It was official now. She didn't even try to understand it. But of all the things she hasn't understood in the past year: animated corpses, Mike's betrayal, her son's death, her fucking life turning into a nightmare, Andrea's betrayal, not understanding why she liked spending time with Rick at least felt _good_.

Spending time with him was the gift that kept giving.

It was past noon, so the prison grounds were alive with people walking, talking, and kids playing. "So, you want me to believe that you know each and everyone of these people?" she asked Rick.

"Between Hershel, Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and Carol, yes," he said, and she laughed. "It was my idea for them to get to know new arrivals, so it counts. I couldn't cover all of these people. And I trust their judgment. Besides, I'm not runnin' things anymore, remember?"

"Sounds like a long-winded way of saying you're not Mr. Friendly," she teased.

"You don't think I'm friendly? I'm friendly."

"Maybe. You're not an extrovert."

"I'm not," he confirmed. "You were?"

She appreciated his use of the past tense. "I was. I'm the girl who'd come up and talk to you."

"I'd come up and talk to you. Hold on a second now, we're talking about a group of people, fine folks, I've heard, versus you. I'd talk to you. Introvert doesn't mean-"

She raised her eyebrows at him cutting himself off. "Doesn't mean what?"

"Nothing."

"Don't do that. Come on," she plead, bumping him with her shoulder.

"No, it's nothing. Trust me."

"I don't," she said, the pout in her voice.

"The point is: I got manners," he said.

"I disagree. Manners means pleasing your audience."

"No comment," he said after a beat.

He was looking straight ahead and smiling, and she dared wonder if his mind had gotten to the gutter before hers did. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and resumed walking in step with him.

"You know, that tour only made me more determined to protect this place," she said when the fresh green grass surrounding their baby garden were within sight. "Or stay away from it," she admitted quietly with a sigh.

"What?" Rick asked.

She slowed her steps until she stopped, and he followed suit and came around to face her.

"What do you think it looks like if I stay?" she asked him rhetorically. "What will it feel like? To stay, and be here every day, and get to know these people? Not that I wanna hear their life stories or anything. I like being back, Rick. And I hate that. I came back two days ago, and I was _relieved_. Relieved to see this place, relieved to see everyone still here, relieved to see-You know," she faltered, "Everyone. I'm starting to feel a difference between being here and being out there, and I can see it making being out there harder."

She sighed. "That's what I was thinking about earlier," she confessed quietly, her eyes downcast. "Honestly, after that tour, I'm now wondering if I come back here to reset to what I should be, or if I leave here to reset to what I know," she said as she looked at the ground.

"Navel-gazing shit?" he asked, making her smile and nod with a roll of her eyes. "What you're doing is important," he said. "It is. As long as you feel that he's out there, then you keep looking. I'll stage an intervention if it gets to be too much."

She laughed quietly, her shoulders shaking.

"I'm serious. I'm ready."

She raised her eyes to look at him. His warm eyes, his handsome face.

"At the risk of…" He sighed and gathered his thoughts. "I just...I think it's important for you to know that...I like it when you're back. And earlier," he said, gesturing at the garden behind him, "Asking you to help me with this, well, I guess I hoped that you being back could feel like it lasts just as long as when you're gone. Because the days _drag_ when you're gone," he said, chuckling nervously.

Michonne smiled. Between him and Carl, her time was monopolized when she was back, and she liked it that way.

"It'll be okay," he promised, nodding. "It'll be fine."

Settling down. She wondered if she could try _that_. Being part of a camp of people seemed like a lifetime ago. A camp hadn't prevented her child from getting killed.

There was Rick, though. He was, quite frankly, the main attraction. The camper she was interested in. She wondered what would happen between them if she stayed, if she became...a regular part of the group. Being in his presence was exhilarating enough with a timer, she didn't dare imagine what it would be like to be near him every day.

"Come on," he said, indicating the path behind him with his head.

Michonne stepped forward and kissed him, placing her hand on the back of his head to make sure she got him at a good angle, because this may be her only chance.

The contact, this contact, was electrifying. It zapped her senses to life. She felt his lips push back against hers, and her belly fell into disarray.

It was one second, two at most, and then she stepped back, shocked at what she'd done but unable to feel any regrets.

"Let's go," she breathed and stepped around him.

"No," he said, stepping in her way.

He closed in on her, grabbed her waist, and kissed her.

He opened his lips to caress hers, and she could've melted. Sweet, sweet contact. _This_ , she could try. She wanted to.

He teased her lips with his tongue, and she opened up for him. Her head swam even as she matched his passion. She was aware of the strong grip of his hands on her waist as he held her in place, the friction of his sturdy chest against hers, and the softness of his hair in her hand. All of it was a perfect augmentation of the magic of his tongue.


	8. Chapter 8

**Alive**

Michonne brought one hand around to his face to caress his beard, and she moaned at the utter maleness of him, from the way he looked, to the way he talked, to the way he walked, to the way he stood, to the way he kissed her now.

His hands were on the small of her back, pressing her to him, and her arms were around his shoulders, her fingers buried in his thick hair, the strands easily slipping between her fingers.

Her adventurous hands inspired him, and he slipped one flat palm down over the full curve of her buttcheek and squeezed generously. Her pussy contracted hard.

"Oh God," she moaned as she interrupted the kiss. She laughed, because she couldn't help it.

"What?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes briefly dipping to her lips.

"I just, uh, I just had a reaction. And I'm thinking that my situation is more severe than I thought," she explained, still laughing.

Rick raised his eyebrows. "You came?" he asked quietly, as if someone could hear them.

"No," she shook her head. "But I don't think I'm far off."

His eyes dipped to her lips again, and she met his unspoken desire by kissing him.

He focused both hands on her butt, and squeezed long moans out of her.

One of her hands was on his butt, too, squeezing and rubbing while the other roamed the expanse of his back.

He grew bolder and dipped one hand further down and grabbed her pussy from behind.

"Oh shit," she gasped in surprise as her pussy leaked wantonly, and she involuntarily lifted one of her legs in response. She wasn't ready for him to quickly react by pushing his hand farther to rub her back and forth, now that he could no longer grab her through the stretched, tight jeans.

She was caught in a funnel of pleasure, her leg hiked up to his hip and her ass protruding to give him better access. They breathed into each other as his prurient eyes seared hers.

She still had all of her clothes on, yet his breath was fragmented from kissing and touching her. She wanted to know what he would be like when she showed him some skin. Her body burned with unbridled desire.

Once more, he read her mind.

"Come on," he said.

He grabbed her hand and led her to the shed for some privacy. She bit her lip as she walked. Her underwear was sliding against her pussy.

When Rick grabbed the shed's door knob, she stopped him.

"Not in the dark. I wanna see everything. I mean, I don't wanna be presumptuous…"

"Be presumptuous," he said, grinning. He framed her face with his beautiful hands and kissed her.

But he stopped before she could even melt into him.

"What?" she asked, unnerved by how he was now looking at her.

"Uh," he said, and he took a step back. "I just thought of somethin'. I just thought of a _stupid_ thing."

"What?" she asked, feeling lost and more than ready to be found. She did not want her hot, widower friend backing away from touching and kissing her.

"We don't have any protection," he said, his tone a mix of frustrated and disappointed.

Michonne didn't bother asking if there were any prophylactics on the grounds. Who the hell was gonna go get them? Him, with his lewd bulge? Her, with her wet panties? She wasn't going to leave him until they'd both had an orgasm.

"We can, uh…" She laughed at that fact that this conversation was actually happening. "We can do it old school. Do what sex ed said not to? You can pull out."

Rick chuckled, but he looked uncomfortable. "I can't. I mean...there's still a chance."

"That I'll get pregnant?" she teased. But his cringey smile disappeared, and she sobered very quickly. "Oh. Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry. Of _course_ ," she said, feeling like a dolt.

"It's okay," he assured.

"No, it isn't," she countered. "Jesus."

A baby wasn't a reality for her. Motherhood wasn't. But fatherhood was a very fresh reality for him. Judith was almost two months old. And her mother had died quickly after the birth. Of _course_ he was risk-averse right now.

Hell, she should be, too. Her grief over Andre was not a barrier to pregnancy.

"Michonne, honestly, it's okay," he said, as he wrapped an arm around her waist. He pressed his lips against hers long enough for her forehead to relax.

"The way you say my name should be illegal," she murmured against his lips.

"The way you say _my_ name should be illegal," he countered.

"How do I say your name?" she asked as she pulled back and wrinkled her nose.

"You know. You put this special emphasis on it. You say it like you mean it, no questions, ifs, ands, or buts. Just…" he prompted her.

"Rick," she obliged.

"Yeah," he confirmed, smiling.

She chuckled. She didn't get it, but then again he probably didn't get what he did to her name either.

When she sobered, she said, "I understand," referring to his hesitation.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked as he swayed with her.

"I don't know. I want what's in your pants. And I know where I want it."

"Do you always talk like that when you're excited? I like it."

And she liked the way he kissed, so she availed herself.

Minutes later, he had her backed up against the shed, and they were wildly grinding their pelvises together when he stopped kissing her long enough to speak.

"Let's do it," he said breathlessly.

"What?" she huffed, trying to focus her addled brain.

"It," he said as he unzipped her pants. "If you still want to. And I think you do."

"Woah, woah, hold up," she cautioned as she held his wrists where they were. "What happened? What happened to your fear?"

"I just needed a moment," he said before capturing her lips.

"Mmm," she moaned as he swept her away.

While she was somewhere over the moon, he unbuttoned her pants. "Mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm," she murmured against his lips as she stopped his hand again. She broke away from him and walked a couple of paces toward the fence. She focused on the empty faces of the walkers and listened to their tortured moans.

Feeling like she had better control of herself, she turned to Rick and said, "We need to slow down."

"Why?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Look, I just needed a moment," he said as he strutted to her.

Her eyes lowered to his bulge before she told herself to look at his face. And that face was about to kiss her.

"No, no," she said as she put a finger against his lips. "One of us has to be in control."

"Yeah?" he teased. He grabbed her pussy again and serendipitously pressed against her clit at a good angle, and her thighs wobbled.

"Richard," she chastised between clenched teeth as she pushed his hand away from her vulva.

"Elodie," he caressed.

"Okay," she said as she escaped toward the shed. "This is your hormones talking," she said as she turned around. "You're like the drunk guy who swears he can drive right now. Your first instinct, back when you were a little more clear-headed, was correct."

He began to strut toward her, and she backed up two steps. She held a finger up to halt him and said, "I shouldn't have said what I said about wanting your dick where I want it. There are other things we can do. There are other things we _should_ do."

To prove her point, and to save him from himself, and from her, because she wasn't a Saint, she walked up to him and dropped to her knees, running her hands down his chest in the process. She ran her palm over the length of his bulge, her mouth watering.

"Michonne," he said tightly from above her. When she looked up, he said, "I wanna have sex with you. Pulling my dick out isn't gonna sway me in the other direction."

"Right," she said, realizing he had a point. She looked at his bulge again. She was so close it. Her mind empty of everything but his dick, she loosened his belt, undid his pants, and pushed it and his underwear down his thighs to rest at his ankles. His dick sprang forward, and so did her stomach. She almost cursed. Rick Grimes carried something serious between his legs. That something rose past her face, now that it had room, revealing his hefty balls.

He widened his stance, and she found the move unbearably hot. It said everything that he expected of her, and that was when she decided to take all that he had.

She cupped his balls, held his thigh to balance herself, and slowly licked under his scrotum from the back to the front. She lightly sucked on one sack and then the other. He widened his stance again and put his his fingers through her locs to hold her head, and a wave of pleasure rushed over her skin.

She loved a responsive man. It honestly made or broke a blowjob for her, and she loved giving blowjobs. She loved to be touched while doing it, unless she specifically said otherwise, when it turned her on not to be touched. It seemed like she wouldn't have to encourage Rick to let her know if he was enjoying himself. She could make him see stars if he was adventurous enough, but that could wait for another time.

She took his dick in her mouth, and she had to fight not to drool over it. The way it fit in her mouth drove her crazy. She was happy to have him in her mouth, to suck him while the flat of her tongue ran under the shaft, and to taste his precum.

She got so excited that she had to stop and swallow her excess saliva. "I feel like I'm freaking drooling," she said as she held his dick.

"You're not," he exhaled.

"My mouth is really wet."

"I know. It feels good."

And then he took his dick from her hand and fed it to her.

She wanted to thank him and give him a big kiss him at the same time. If this was how he acted when _he_ was excited, then she would suck his dick any time he wanted.

She forgot all about her watery mouth and went to town. She gave him her best, which had him groaning and cursing. Her locs were bunched into a ponytail in his fist, and his other hand flexed on her nape while he tried to fuck her face.

A salient part of her hoped he was keeping even half of an ear out for anyone who might be headed their way, because she couldn't hear shit except him, her moans on his dick, and, from time to time, the walkers on the outer fence.

She rotated her head on the head of his dick, and his thigh trembled under her hand.

"I'm gonna come. I'm coming soon. Keep going, keep..."

She slipped him out of her mouth and squeezed his base with one hand and the head of his dick with the other, hoping she hadn't reacted too late.

When he took a deep breath like he was breathing for the first time, she knew she'd acted just in time.

"Oh my God," he sighed.

She looked up and found him looking down at her.

"You're just…holy...Jesus Christ."

"Are you disappointed?" she asked sultrily.

"What? At this?" he asked, indicating his thwarted orgasm. "No. Gimme all you got."

His accent was thicker, and a small tremor went through her. She uncurled his fist from her hair and stood. "That's why I stopped you. I was so tempted to let you finish. To taste."

She rubbed her lips against his, and he kissed her.

"I wanna give you all I got," she said when they separated. "I'm wetter than you can imagine right now, and I'm not a good influence. Not a Saint. I just want your dick up my pussy."

His hand had found its way into her hair again, and he tugged. She didn't know if it was a horny reflex or if he'd done it on purpose, but at this stage, at this final level, she was all for it.

"Show me," he said gruffly.

He didn't need to say another word. She backed up and shimmied her pants down to her ankles. Then she did her underwear. It was soaked, strings of her cum lining it. She looked at him and moved her hair to one side of her neck. Then she turned around and got down on her knees and elbows, knees spread apart, her gooey pussy high in the air for him to see.

"In my dying moment, Michonne, this is how I wanna remember you."

Her belly quivered, and she smiled, closing her eyes. It would be something to be remembered period, but to be remembered as this, something more than the hard mass of grief, hurt and pain that she'd been just a few months ago, a woman, passionate, that was music to her ears. She was still calloused from the loss, pain, and betrayal, but she was at least...penetrable...now.

She felt him slowly sink to his knees behind her, and, behind closed lids, she imagined the reverence with which he looked at her pussy.

He slowly flicked his tongue against her engorged clit, and then he took it into his mouth like it was her tongue, making out with it, suckling on it.

A high pitched moan escaped from her. He explored her pussy, licking the corners of her inner folds and sucking on her labia majora. He rubbed her clit with the flat of his tongue before he began to flick it. He alternated between flicking and sucking. Her vagina contracted, but she knew she wasn't going to come yet.

He licked his way up her pussy and slowly inserted his tongue inside, and as he slowly went in, so did her eyes slowly open, in surprise, in relief, he was finally putting _something_ of his inside of her, and his tongue was the second best thing, especially when he began to fuck her with it.

She rose from her elbows to her hands and looked back. His eyes were closed, his face content, and he was fucking perfect. Her mouth was slack, and her forehead was drawn as she watched what he was doing to her. She reached her hand back and placed it on his head.

He opened his eyes to look at her but did not interrupt his rhythm. She began to fuck him back, pushing her ass into his face.

"Feels good," she murmured as they watched each other.

He stopped bobbing his head, widened his tongue inside her, and wiggled it.

"Mmm," she moaned. She bit her lip and smiled. She gave him something back. She used her walls to squeeze his tongue, over and over, contracting around it. He groaned and closed his eyes. He straightened his tongue, but she kept going, humping, squeezing it when she moved forward, watching him, feeling his warm breath on her labias and clit every time she pushed back.

He pulled his tongue out and enthusiastically went at her clit.

The sweet sensation made her let go of his head and face forward. She took what he was giving her, trying to stay still, breathing harder and harder, and moaning louder and louder.

As he built her up high and higher, her eyes focused on the fresh, green grass in front of her. It was alive. She focused on Rick going to town on her pussy, his wet tongue, the smacking of his lips, his moans. She felt _good_. She was being tended to. She was alive, too. She was utterly alive.

Her clit felt like it had a pulse of its own when he stopped.

"Come here," he said.

She looked behind her. She felt so desperate. "Are you sure? You sure you wanna stop?" She wiggled her bottom temptingly.

He looked down at her pussy, and the grin that he gave it held so many spine-tingling promises that her smile wobbled.

He looked at her again and answered, "I'm sure. You owe me one, and I owe you one."

Her smile strengthened at that. "Plans for the future," she said as she straightened and maneuvered to face him. "I like that."

"I choose when and where," he said.

"So do I," she said defiantly.

"For me to do you," he specified.

"Same. Now, gimme me your dick."

He stood and took his pants and underwear off completely. He moved around her and folded them, and then he sat on them.

She stood and took hers off and made sure her underwear landed on her pants on the ground. "If anyone comes around that shed, we're screwed."

He smiled up adorably at her. "I'd give you cover, make sure I was more screwed than you. Come on, get on."

She stared into his eyes for a beat, this man who'd thrown her for a loop during a time when she'd thought she had no one. He made her feel connected in a way that she never had before, not even with Mike, the one time love of her life. The connection that she felt with Rick promised a depth that she did not understand. She still thought it something that could eventually be understood. But either way, with him, near him, thinking about him, she didn't feel like the only person in the world.

He was her friend. And she was going to sit on his dick.

She sank to her knees above him. He held himself at the base and lined up with her entrance, and they held eye contact as she slowly sat, taking him inch by inch, feeling him glide in to stuff her pussy. The delicious feeling made her break out in goosebumps.

She lifted a little to keep herself from getting overwhelmed, but then she continued until he was in completely. A full body shudder racked her.

"Watch that," he chastised tightly.

She saw the concentration on his face. She was killing him as much as he was killing her.

He slipped her tank top above her head and unhooked her bra, baring her chest to his hungry eyes. She, of course, moved to put him on equal footing as her. She started to unbutton his shirt. His thick dick made her pussy flutter halfway through, and she moaned. She undid the rest of the buttons with trembling fingers.

"Move," he strained once she'd slid the shirt down his sinewy arms. He firmly grabbed her ass for emphasis.

Moving was sweet, sweet torture. She'd completely coated him with her lubrication, yet the foreign presence of his dick, after so long, made her movements jerky. She lifted up, but would pause halfway down, or get all the way down and pause before coming back up.

"Just go, Michonne, Jesus Christ. Come on. Come on," he repeated with a firm smack to her asscheek.

Her pussy fluttered. "You have no idea what this feels like," she whispered as she glared at him.

"Yes, I do. Now, move. _Move_ ," he insisted again with a smack to her other cheek while he glared at her.

She grabbed two fistfulls of his hair and got going, whimpering as she fucked him, moving her hips down, in, and up, down, in, and up.

"Yes. Oh, yes. Shit," he strained.

She kept going, her eyes boring into him and her breath hitching, the reality of the experience more than she could've ever dared fantasize. She never wanted to get off.

He broke eye contact and took a hard nipple into his mouth, and she shuddered and went faster, harder, snapping her pelvis into his.

"Yes," she whispered shakily. Her wanton eyes landed on the green grass that surrounded them, then the shed, then the prison looming behind it. Her home. Her home.

Rick switched nipples, and she focused on him. The best part about her home. While she was out there, making sure they would keep it, he was in here, making sure they could sustain themselves.

In desperate need of more contact, she bit the shell of his ear. He groaned on her nipple and tightened his hold on her ass.

She pulled him up by his hair, because she wanted to look at him.

"Fuck me," he said desperately.

"Yes," she answered shakily, hips snapping.

"Fuck me."

"Yes. Oh, God."

" _Please_ ," he begged intensely.

"Yes." Her clit had protruded far enough that it rubbed against his pelvis every time she came forward, so she adjusted to get the most out of it, the full range of her movements smaller and tighter.

She chased her orgasm on his dick, spurred forward by his hands on her ass. The promise of release grew and grew, looming large and just out of her reach. Close, so close, a fingertip away.

Then closer still, a copious amount of feelings surging through her, familiar feelings, _good_ feelings, _welcomed_ feelings.

She snapped her eyes shut and went mute from the unexpected impact of her orgasm, shattering wholly and completely.

She released her breath through a loud, primal, drawn-out groan as her body trembled beyond her control.

"Oh, God!" Rick groaned shakily. She was lost to the world, but he scrambled to get off his ass and lay her on the grass. He quickly pulled out and jerked off to spill his come on her belly, grunting as he orgasmed.

The sound seduced Michonne into opening her eyes, and she was greeted with the erotic sight of her friend milking his dick. An aftershock seized her.

He squeezed and shook his dick to drop the last bit of come on her belly, and then he landed on his back next to her.

"Holy shit," he huffed.

"Yeah," she sighed contentedly, her chest heaving and her muscles liquid as she stared at the sparse clouds drifting above.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** To the **What the hell** reviewer: I'm only saying this because I'm believing that you really don't know since you skipped vulva, which I also used, and compared p*ssy to labia majora. P*ssy (aka vulva) and labia majora are not the same thing. They're not interchangeable, so there was no picking one and sticking with it. P*ssy is the whole thing. Labia majora is a part of it, specifically the big outer lips (as opposed to the small inner lips aka labia minora). So if I'd just used p*ssy the way you wished I did, the people who know the difference wouldn't know what Rick was specifically doing at that moment. I chose not to just say "big outer lips."

 **lisnoire:** The ride is almost over...and then the companion fic! :D. I'm working on it, although it won't be as long as this one.

I don't tend to hold back with my smut for any of my OTPs in any fandom. How detailed it is depends on what feels complete to me. So if you enjoyed chapter 8, I'm happy you did! I loved reading your reactions.

* * *

 **Reach Out With Both Hands**

Rick had to be on watch at dawn in the guard tower facing the front of the prison, but it was after midnight, and he could not sleep. He was wired, but he was grinning every couple of minutes as he stared at the bunk on top of him where Carl snored, because for the first time in a very long time what was keeping him up was exciting. What kept him up was new, and it was good.

He and Michonne had added a new layer to their friendship.

The previous day had taken an unexpected turn, but he would be lying if he said the turn had been surprising. He was very attracted to her, and he'd had yet to come up with a way to hide it. As far as he was concerned, his attraction was obvious every time he looked at her and every time he spoke to her.

Not for the first time, his mind drifted to yesterday afternoon, and he smiled. She'd kissed him; she'd opened up to him and for him. Baring her pussy to him was the hottest thing he'd ever seen someone do. And he'd meant what he'd said when he'd been feverish with desire. In his dying moment, that was how he wanted to remember her. Or at least one of the ways. Top five. Because he wanted more moments with her, sexual and not. But definitely sexual, too.

After they'd come down from their respective release, he'd carried the bucket of water to her and poured while she'd wiped her belly clean.

He closed his eyes and replayed how her belly had gotten dirty. He had come on her stomach.

He'd also taken his dick and put it in her mouth. Taking his dick and putting it in Michonne Warren's mouth was now the hottest thing _he'd_ ever done.

He chuckled quietly and opened his eyes. Moonlight flowed in through the high windows beyond his cell.

He'd gone from being an extremely stressed out man, to being a mildly stressed out man who took refuge in his conversations with Michonne, to being an exhibitionist who'd answered when opportunity had said that she wanted his dick inside of her.

He heard the rustle of sheets as someone turned on their bed, and he wondered if it was her. He wondered if she was awake, too, replaying the way they'd moved together, the way she'd sucked his dick, the way she'd wanted him, and he'd wanted her. Or was she asleep, drifting away after he'd helped her release her own stress.

He loved the way she talked when she was horny. He loved the way he'd acted. He wanted to explore more of that side of himself. With Michonne.

After rinsing her belly, she'd rinsed her vulva, and he'd followed her lead. They'd quickly gotten dressed after. She hadn't wanted to put her wet underwear back on, so she'd stuffed it in her bra.

He wished now that she'd asked him to hold it in his pocket. He would've liked to walk around with it.

They'd rinsed the outside of their mouths, just in case, and then they'd returned to the more populated areas of the prison, her hand on his bicep.

" _Gardening isn't bad at all,_ " she'd quipped.

" _I told you_ ," he'd responded before kissing her head.

His priority after separating from her had been to get condoms. He'd gone to the open storage area where they kept the stash of extra toiletries. Although Maggie and Glenn were the only ones sleeping with someone, the core group had kept boxes of condoms available in the storage area in case anyone else found a need to use them. That forethought was going to come in handy now that more people were living in the prison.

He never thought he'd be one of the people with a need for condoms, though, what with things having gone south with Lori.

Yet there he'd been, walking to the storage area with the clear goal of getting a box of condoms to sleep with someone who wasn't his wife.

He'd found Hershel in the storage area, revising the number of toothbrushes available since he'd just picked up a new one for Beth.

He'd come up short when he'd seen him, but he'd cleared his throat and continued in. He'd pretended that he was there to inspect the list and match it with what was actually there to make sure everything was accurate.

Hershel had handed him the list, but he hadn't left. Rick had felt his eyes on him when he'd begun his inventory ruse.

* * *

 _Yesterday afternoon_

"Everything all right?" he drawled as he turned his attention to Hershel.

"You were giving Michonne a tour of the place earlier. That's good."

"She asked for it," he said, like it was a miracle.

"That's even better," Hershel said. "I know why this started, why she started leaving. We were all on edge. But at this point in my life, Rick, I know a runner when I see one."

"She's not runnin'. She's convinced he's out there. She feels it in her gut, and that's not something I can argue with. She's got good instincts," he said.

Michonne had pretty much told him that she was partially running away from settling down, but he wasn't going to confirm that for Hershel. Michonne would share her private thoughts with whomever she wanted.

"I think she does, too," Hershel said, referring to Michonne's instincts. "Maybe she's right that he's out there. But I do think it would be good for her to be here more. She told me she was on her own before."

Rick nodded in confirmation.

"I think you're the key to her getting comfortable enough to stay," Hershel opined.

"I think Carl," he dodged reflexively as he scratched his eyebrow with his thumb.

"I think you," Hershel insisted evenly. "Carl's a child. You're an adult. Carl seems to be playing a part, but the conversations are different, and I think she needs the adult conversations, too. I know that she and Maggie talk sometimes, but it doesn't look like when I see her talking to you. You're good for her, and she's good for you. She looks different when she's with you, and you...I think it's good for you to see yourself being a positive influence on someone after everything that's happened. And I hope you see that you _are_ being a good influence on her," he said, dipping his head to search Rick's eyes.

Rick nodded, although he felt a little uncomfortable. He knew that Michonne liked him as a person, and he was relieved that she'd forgiven him, but he was at a low point in his life, because both his deepest friendship and his family had imploded almost simultaneously, so it was difficult to hear about him being a _good_ thing for anybody except his son and new daughter. But he knew that Michonne would agree with Hershel.

"You look different with her, too," Hershel said.

Rick scoffed, because he didn't know what to say to that either, and he focused on the toiletries like he was really doing something.

"I don't wanna overstep my bounds," Hershel said to begin another point.

Rick's heart sunk, and he hoped that Hershel hadn't somehow guessed what had transpired between him and Michonne mere minutes ago. He knew there was such a thing as an after sex glow, but he wasn't glowing, was he? He was sure that he looked normal.

"I want you to be careful," Hershel said. "I'd say the same thing to her, but we don't know each other that well yet, and I don't want my big mouth to ruin the chance of it ever happening."

Rick turned to face him again, squinting.

"What I'm trying to say is…"

He watched the prudent man pause to gather his thoughts.

"I know how much you've been hurting. I can _see_ how much she's been hurting. You seem to have found...I don't know, something wonderful in each other. Rick, you run your mouth like you're the most talkative person on earth when you're with her. I see it."

"I don't run my mouth," he disagreed.

"You talk. A lot. As opposed to the brooding, only speaking when spoken to you do when she's not here. And I do understand why. I understand why you're not especially chatty with the new people."

"I didn't know you watched me so closely, Hershel."

"You're our leader, Rick. You've released a lot of control, like a good leader should, but you're still our leader. And I like to think we're all family. I watch everyone, but you're obviously a special case.

I want you both to be careful not to move too fast, whatever moving too fast may mean. Sometimes we find something, especially when we need it, and it's so good that we reach out and take it with both hands, only to end up squeezing it so hard we break it. Whatever you two have, be careful not to break it."

Rick nodded, but what Hershel said to him didn't make any sense until after the man left.

After Hershel left, he thought about what he'd said to Michonne: that he was ready to stage an intervention if he saw that looking for the Governor became detrimental to her.

She'd told him that she was running, so he meant what he'd said. He also simply wanted her to be here. He did feel like being with her all of the time, like Hershel had alluded to with his warning.

But he didn't want her to stop looking for the Governor any sooner than she was comfortable with. She was running from settling down because of something very serious. She was running from settling down, because she'd lost her son and the love of her life. Looking for the Governor was her version of working on a garden on the perimeter of the prison to be away from everyone.

He decided then and there to never create an argument about her looking for the Governor again. No, he did not want her to decrease the amount of time she spent at the prison when she came back, and he definitely did not want her to stay out there all of the time. That was not good for her, because she would essentially be committing to being alone, to _leaving_ a settlement. But he knew she was smart enough to know that.

He decided that his role was to let her know that there were people who liked having her around. There were people who missed her when she was gone. There were people who waited for her to come back.

He hesitated on taking the box of condoms now. Was that reaching out with both hands and squeezing? He and Michonne had sex today. Didn't mean they would have it again.

He tried to separate Hershel's advice from what he knew. He'd been there with Michonne today. He knew her better than Hershel. Hell, even Hershel had said as much. She had wanted him, and she'd been happy after she'd had him. She would want him again.

He'd told her to be presumptuous.

She probably wanted him to be presumptuous, too. They tended to be on the same page.

He remembered then that they'd agreed that they owe each other oral sex.

He took a box of condoms, changed the number of boxes on the list from ten to nine, and he left.

* * *

 _Now_

Now, he had a box of thirty-six condoms hidden under his mattress. Talk about contraband.

The mattress wasn't the best place to hide the box. He didn't _have_ a good place to hide it. His room was a prison cell. He'd thought about hiding it on the floor under the cart that held Judith's baby items, but Beth was around that cart frequently, caring for Judith.

What he should've done was open the box and take a handful. He still would've struggled for a good place to hide them, though.

He was on watch in the morning, and Michonne was going to clear excess walkers from the fence with Sasha and Carol, but he knew they would be talking at some point tomorrow. Maybe they'd find some privacy, too. Maybe they could tend to the garden.

Whether things turned heavy between them or not, he'd opened the box and put two condoms in the pocket of the pants he planned to wear when he woke up.

Fear and trepidation had seized him yesterday behind the shed when he'd remembered that they did not have protection. He'd known that any birth control she may have been on before had long finished. Visions of Lori's remains inside of that walker's stomach had assaulted him. Visions of her remains after he'd blacked out and hacked the walker to pieces had barged into his mind. And the reason behind her death had clanged loudly and drowned out his libido.

Lori had died because of a crude c-section, yes, but she'd gotten pregnant from having unprotected sex.

They'd slept together exactly twice since he'd found her, and, yes, he'd pulled out. Not the best prevention method, but it was what they'd had. She had been the one to breathe in his ear to make sure to pull out that first time in the tent.

But she'd been with Shane, too, and more than twice, and he had no idea how vigilant they'd been.

She'd lied to him when he'd first asked her how far along she thought she had been. She'd lied to match it to either time that they'd been together.

He wouldn't be surprised if she and Shane had slipped up. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd be surprised if they'd never bothered. He'd like to think that they had, that Lori had, but he didn't know.

But he knew that he'd had nothing to do with Judith. Things didn't work out that way.

He looked over at the medium-sized container that Daryl had personalized for her with the words _Lil Asskicker_ and drawings of hearts, stars, and a smiley face, her bed before Carl had found her a crib.

He'd had nothing to do with Judith's conception, but he was the one who was going to have everything to do with the rest of her life.

Judith was a fact of his life. That was all that she was right now. He didn't love her, and that was part of everything that he was dealing with, part of his stress, part of his need to be away from everyone, to put his gun down, to just...stop. He was responsible for a baby that he did not love.

Carl loved her. He'd thought that he could, too. Things had thawed a bit between he and Lori before her passing. He definitely hadn't planned on abandoning her after she'd given birth.

She'd wanted him to believe that the baby was his. Even after he'd learned the truth about her and Shane. She'd asked him to rub her belly once. His stomach had tightened, but because Carl was there, he'd done it. Hell, he probably would've done it even if Carl hadn't been there, because he'd been taken off guard.

The second time she'd asked, he'd done it, mechanically. He'd asked her if that was good, if she was good, and she'd said yes, probably realizing that the act didn't make him feel warm and fuzzy like it had when she'd been pregnant with Carl, and he'd pulled his hand back. He'd then asked her to please not ask him to do that again, because it made things uncomfortable.

Then, when Judith had started to kick, she'd told him to feel it. He'd glared at her. And then he'd done it. And she'd known better than to ever ask him to feel it again.

But that was when he'd promised her, just in case there were any doubts, that he would be there for her and the baby.

" _It's ours, Rick. Yours,"_ she'd insisted.

He'd glared at her, many words unsaid, because he couldn't remember the last time she actually wanted to listen to him, and he'd walked away.

She'd stopped him by calling his name.

" _This baby is yours, whether you want to believe it or not,"_ she'd said to his back. " _What do you plan to tell Carl?"_

" _Nothing,"_ he'd snapped harshly. " _That's why I said I'll take care of it."_

Once again, it had been up to him to hold everything together. Once again, it would be his fault if the family had a stain on it. She'd stepped out on him, but, somehow, it would be his fault if the family officially broke apart.

He'd planned to love Judith. But then Lori died, and he was the _only_ one left to love her. He was still in shock from that fact.

He'd been feeling every emotion at the same time, and the first time, the very first time things had quieted in his head was when Michonne had limped to the fence that day. He'd thought she was another illusion, but everything in his head had quieted.

He made sure to hold Judith everyday, spend time with her, hoping to love her. Nothing was happening yet. She was still just a fact.

Michonne had told him that Judith brought up bad memories and made her really anxious, so she preferred not to be near her for too long, although she liked seeing her when Beth had her and when he or Carl had her.

He put himself near Judith on purpose, and he did not love her. She was Carl's sister, but she was not his daughter the way he wanted her to be. The reality greatly saddened him. But he was trying.

Not wanting to fall too deep into the fucked up abyss that was his feelings about his family, he forced his thoughts to return to Michonne. Talking to Michonne, working with Michonne, Michonne laughing, Michonne, Michonne, Michonne.

Having sex with Michonne.

The condoms. Yes. He needed them close at hand the next time he spent time with her.

After exploring her sweet mouth yesterday afternoon, his head had been swimming. His libido had overtaken his fears, and he'd agreed with her idea: they needed to fuck then and there. They needed to.

He for damn sure hadn't planned on jacking himself off to completion after having her hot and ready in his arms, and oral sex hadn't been a good enough prospect.

He closed his eyes and relived everything. His hard dick in her throat as she bathed it in her saliva, her mouth sucking his balls, her clit peeking out from its hood, begging him to glorify it with his tongue, the milky white secretions at the entrance of her pussy, a testament of her arousal, her round ass in his hands, her breasts in his mouth, the feel of her skin.

They'd come together with the understanding that he would pull out. But when they _had_ come together...

He slipped his hand down his pajama pants to play with his hardening dick.

Staring into her eyes as they'd fucked had kept his from rolling to the back of his head. Being inside of her had been soul-fulfilling. She'd ridden him like a fucking expert. She'd ridden him like he was all that she needed to get herself off. Like he was enough.

He squeezed his dick and licked his lips. Yeah, he'd made the right decision to grab those condoms, because he had every intention of being inside of her again, and yesterday he'd been so consumed by his impending orgasm that he'd almost forgotten to pull out.

He could not be _that_ irresponsible.

Three days down, two days until she left again.

He wondered if she was awake.

He decided to find out. He took his hands out of his pajamas and left the bed. He grabbed a condom from the pants, his gun, and he went to find her a couple of cells down.

They could have sex, or they could talk, or they could do both.

The days didn't have enough hours when she was around. So it was after midnight, and he was going to find her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** To the people who said Rick was sprung. Sprung was the working title for this fic for the longest before I felt it didn't fit the tone of Michonne's pov and changed it! And the first chapter was titled Fuck Rick Grimes until right before I uploaded it.

 **Trinilynn** , your biology lesson comment cracked me up. Smut's more fun when you know what you're reading, lol!

Thank you for re-reading Verbal Communications, **Theycanstillgrow**!

Thank you so, so much for reading this story everyone! Whether you left a review or not! I appreciate it all. We've reached the final chapter, but as I previously said, there will be a (short) companion fic, so stay tuned for that! I'm thinking of posting it all at once rather than weekly updates. Let me know which you prefer!

* * *

 **I Miss You**

Michonne was lying on her side, eyes closed, fantasizing about Rick, when she felt movement near her cell.

She stopped smiling and opened her eyes. She raised her head and listened.

"Michonne, are you awake?"

Her smile returned. "Rick?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Come inside," she beckoned as she swung her legs around to sit. Despite the new influx of people in the prison, she didn't share her cell, so there was no one in the bed above hers. Rick had never asked her to share her space with someone else.

He walked in, all lean and attractive. Those pajama pants were doing his hips all types of favors again.

"Sit," she said. She noted that he carried his gun, and she wondered if his intention was the same as what she'd been fantasizing about.

"You can't sleep?" he asked quietly as he lowered himself next to her.

"No," she answered smiling. "But not because of why I couldn't sleep a couple of months ago. I keep thinking about yesterday."

He smiled. "Me too. You wanna talk?"

"You mean...about what we are, that kind of thing?" she asked as her stomach clenched nervously.

"No, I mean talk like we usually do. Do you wanna talk about what we are?" he asked, frowning.

"We're friends. Right?" she asked, hoping he'd say yes, because she did not want to do the whole _what are we?_ thing.

"Yeah," he answered. "And that's good. Right?"

"Right," she said with a nod.

"Trusting each other to be honest?"

She smiled as she recalled what she'd said to him yesterday morning. "Yes. Let's go. Wait," she said, sitting back down. "Uh...we're friends...who...have sex. Right?"

"Right," he said, nodding.

"Good, let's go. The bathroom."

She grabbed her katana, and they walked out, him in front. They briefly stopped by the table in front of the cells that held flashlights for people to use if they needed to use the restroom at night, and Rick grabbed a flashlight.

He turned it on after they left the block of cells, and he led her to the bathroom.

She took the flashlight from him when they entered. She leaned her katana against the wall between the sinks while he deposited his gun on the sink to their right.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Curious about how she looked after she'd had sex with Rick, she'd done it yesterday evening, but she did it again now, shining the flashlight on herself at an angle.

"I wish we'd had a mirror earlier," she revealed. "Just so I could see."

"We have one now," he said as he rested his hands on her waist and started to kiss her bare left shoulder.

She looked at them as he did. She looked at herself. She looked...she looked good. She looked present. Her almond-shaped eyes were soft, yet focused. Her cheeks puffed out next to her wide nose, because she was smiling. Her skin radiated. She ran her fingers through the length of her hydrated locks and watched them swing back into place.

She didn't look like someone who'd walked through several nightmares. That wasn't the first thing she saw when she looked at herself anymore. Between the prison, Carl, and Rick, loss wasn't the totality of her existence anymore.

"I want you to keep working on the garden," she said as she set the flashlight on the sink.

"I will," he promised as his lips traced a line from her shoulders to her neck.

She cocked her head to give him room and closed her eyes to enjoy how he was making her feel. She removed his hands from her waist and brought them up to her braless breasts. He kneaded them, and she caressed his hands, hands that had to be quick on the trigger and powerful on the knife to keep him alive.

He kissed his way up to her ear and gently played with it. She slipped one of his hands down her shorts and passed her underwear. He closed his powerful hand over her pussy, and she sighed. She was going to explicitly tell him that she liked it when he did that so he'd never stop.

Her ear was one of her erogenous zones, so she was getting wetter as he played with it in addition to running his fingers over her slit.

When she couldn't take the attention on her ear anymore, she removed his hand from her sex and turned around to kiss him.

It was like drinking a cold glass of water after exerting herself. She thought it was incredible, because it had only been a couple of hours since she'd last kissed him. She didn't know how she was going to make it when she left in two days. She was going to scour Georgia for The Governor for three weeks.

There would be no Rick, no Rick's kisses, no Rick's hands, and no Rick's dick. And unfortunately, they didn't have the luxury of spending the next two days doing nothing but fucking.

Rick brought his hands down her underwear to palm her ass.

"You are an amazing kisser," she murmured when they took a break.

"So are you," he replied before capturing her mouth again.

"I have a condom," he said when they separated once more.

"Good," she said. She pushed his hips back and dropped to her knees on the cement floor, tugging down his pants and underwear as she went. She held his dick by the base and took him in her mouth, her other hand on his pelvis.

He gasped in response, which pleased her immensely. She was leaving in two days and would be gone for three weeks. She wanted to be able to taste him when she closed her eyes on the road.

He widened his stance and held her bobbing head with his hands and just like that her mouth started to sweat.

He sighed from the depths of his chest as she worked to make him rock hard, and it had a debilitating effect on her pussy, making it starve for him.

She lost herself in blowing him. She was enamored with the taste and feel. So she was a little confused when he called her name and slid his steel dick out of her mouth.

"You don't get to settle your debt yet," he drawled as he rubbed the tip of his dick against her lips.

"Keep doing that, and you won't have a choice," she breathed before she captured it with her lips and suctioned, rubbing her tongue against it as she did.

He was merciful for a couple of seconds, but when she started to take more of him into her mouth, he groaned and pulled it out.

"I thought we got to decide when we wanted to settle," she almost whined. She ran her lips and tongue down the side of his dick, from the tip to where his hand held the base, suctioning as she went. Tellingly, he removed his hand for a second so that she could get all the way to the base.

"We do," he said heavily. "But I wanna be inside you. Now," he said as he moved his dick away from her mouth.

She wasn't going to argue with him putting his dick in her pussy.

"The condom's in the right pocket. My right."

She fished it out. He offered her his hands, and she took them, and he helped her up from the floor.

"When I do settle my debt, you will never want to get in my way again," she promised saucily.

"I can't wait," he said, grinning.

He was too attractive for his own good. She shook her head, and then she tore the package open. She put the condom on him, and he raised her chin to give her a chaste kiss.

She faced the mirror and pushed her shorts and underwear down. She lowered down to her forearms on the sink, pushing her ass out. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and she grinned as she watched him in the mirror. He held her waist with one hand, and she readied herself.

He slowly eased in, and her eyes fluttered closed as her pussy stretched to accommodate him.

She involuntarily clamped down on him before he made it all the way in, still unused to having someone inside of her after all of this time, and he hissed.

She tried to relax, but her brain stuck on him hissing. It turned her on, and her brain told her pussy to hold on to him.

"Pull back a little and go in again," she breathed.

He pulled out, and her vagina inhaled, expanding, and he pushed in, faster than he'd been doing before, filling her with one long stroke.

"Oh, yes," she moaned loudly as she opened her eyes in surprise. "Oh, wow."

She looked at him in the mirror, and he raised his eyes to see her face as he began to methodically pump in and out of her. Her eyes threatened to flutter close again from the sensational feeling of his long, full strokes. She smiled as she watched him, and he grinned, seeing her pleasure all over her face and in her struggle to keep her eyes open.

"Gimme the light," he instructed.

She reached for the flashlight and handed it to him. She watched him shine it directly where they joined. The hand on her ass squeezed, and she knew that he liked what he saw.

"You're so wet," he said.

"I know."

"Oh, God."

"You like it?"

"Yeah."

He pulled the ass cheek that he held from the other and shined the light directly on her other opening. He moaned and licked his lips.

"Rick, all you're doing is making me more wet."

"And?" he asked, smirking as he handed her the flashlight.

She took it from him and replaced it on the sink. "Fuck me," she ordered.

"With pleasure."

And what pleasure it was. He increased his pace little by little until his crotch was slapping hers. Their breaths grew more and more shallow, more and more labored. They became gluttonous in their enjoyment of each other. Their eyes were closed, each focused on what they were getting and taking from each other.

"Aah!" she wailed, loud and drawn out as she rose to a higher state of decadence, the one where nothing mattered except how close she was.

"You need to…"

He finished with a rough, throaty moan.

"I'm close," she told him desperately.

She opened her eyes and saw that his mouth was stuck open. He couldn't even finish telling her to be quiet. His shoulders were raised, and he was hunched over as he fucked her. He was close, too.

She looked at her own face just as he began to all out blitz her pussy. She held her breath to keep from reacting loudly. His powerful pumping forced her to release it, and it trembled out of her in a rush. Her forehead was creased, her mouth was open, too. Her face was tense with anticipation.

" _Oh shit!,_ " she whispered fiercely. She came, her eyes snapping shut as she was swept away. "Aah!"

He covered her mouth with his hand, and the change in angle as he leaned over her, never stopping his thrusts, made him come, and he leaned down completely, covering her body with his as he released, grunting into her shoulder, hips never stopping.

The surprise of his hand firmly over her mouth as well as the heat of his chest against her back intensified her orgasm. Her knees buckled, and she undulated her hips against his crotch uncontrollably, messing up his rhythm, as she moaned into his hand.

* * *

"You trying to get us caught?" he asked after they'd come down from their high. He lifted off of her back. He had already pulled out. "We don't live with heavy sleepers here. Not even Carl anymore."

"I'm not trying to get us caught," she said as she straightened. "I just figure you'll handle it if it happens. It's a compliment," she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said.

They cleaned up and fixed themselves, and then he led her to the hallway, where they sat on the floor. She was glad that he wanted to spend more time together.

Unlike the first time they sat in the hallway, they were leaning into each other, one of her arms wrapped around his.

"It's been a long time since I felt like that," she shared. "I haven't _felt_ in a long time. My body's...I don't know. It's like there's been a separation between my mind and my body. It's like I've just existed. I've just been drifting. I'm connecting again. Settling into my body again."

"I like it when you get loud," he said. "Just so we're clear. I was only teasin'. I didn't-"

"Oh no, I didn't think you disliked it. Please. Why would you?"

He chuckled, and she took the opportunity to caress his cheek with her index finger.

"I'm happy you kissed me," he confessed. "I wouldn't have had the guts. Not right now. Eventually. But that may have been a long time. I'm not in the place to make a move like that, you know?"

"Yeah," she answered. "The extrovert in me peeked out, I guess."

"I'm glad it did," he said, and he kissed her.

When they broke apart, eyes heavy with desire, he said, "Maybe it wouldn't have been a _long_ time," and she laughed.

"I've thought about you," he admitted.

The reveal made her preen internally. "Good. I've tried _not_ to think about you. Because of everything you're going through and all. It felt inappropriate."

"I like inappropriate," he said.

She smiled and kissed him. She laid her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes, content to be in his presence in a new way. She felt even more content when he leaned his head against hers.

They stayed like that for a couple of blissful minutes, and then he raised his head and asked, "Can you tell me about your family? Did your mom belong to a society that required the right pedigree?"

"Nah. But I do know about my roots like you do. I'm Geechee." She raised her head and asked, "You heard of us?"

"Yeah," he said with interest. "The descendants of the slaves from the Sea Islands. You're an Islander?"

"I am," she confirmed, nodding. "My parents were born on Sapelo Island. Ever been?"

"No, I've only been to Saint Simons," he answered. "Fishing, kayaking, jet skiing."

"Of course," she teased, remembering his love of the outdoors.

She wished she could take him to Sapelo Island, but she didn't say so out loud. Instead, she said, "The island represented a thorn in my side before the change happened. "I was in a...I don't know...a battle, a disagreement, with two of my cousins about the land our family owned. A developer approached us about buying it. I wanted to consider. They did not."

"Why? I mean why did you wanna sell?" he asked, putting some distance between them to look at her, although not enough to disturb her hugging his bicep.

"It's not like Hershel owning his land, Rick," she said with a small smile. "Yeah, we've owned ours for generations, and I mean _generations_. I could visit the gravesite of my great, great, great, forever great grandfather who bought the land. _He_ bought the land and later decided to let his sister in on it, because there was power in numbers.

Anyways, it's not the same, because the island was being gentrified. Hell, it _was_ gentrified. My thought process was: what is the best way to make sure the family gets the most out of it? Preservation is nice, but there's a reason why preservation sites either rely on donors or the government.

My cousins didn't want to give it up, and their side of the family backed them, and I wanted to figure out something that would make us wealthy, and my family backed me up. My parents were in total agreement. There just wasn't enough of us, Geechee land owners, to put up a fight for a couple of years and _not_ end up with _nothing_ at the end of it all. I didn't just want a couple of millions like the other families who'd sold. I wanted something that would keep giving, and, yeah, I _did_ want to preserve it! What?" she asked, when he raised his eyebrows, smiling.

"You're getting a little loud," he said, exaggerating the low volume of his voice. "Is that a thing with you?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I started having a flashback, there, but you get the gist of how those phone calls would go. Oh, it was a gorgeous, gorgeous island, Rick. I spent most of my summers there as a child. I learned how to swim in the ocean."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she answered, smiling. "My mom hated it, but my dad insisted. She watched over us like a hawk during the lessons."

"Is that why you like going to the ocean when you need some perspective?"

"Probably," she said, considering the connection for the first time. "I've never linked the two things."

"But you hate sand," he deadpanned.

" _Yes_. Funny enough, I didn't when I was younger. I didn't care."

"You just wanted to get dirty."

"Basically," she confirmed. "When I got older, starting with college, I'd spend at least two weeks on the island during the summer. Beautiful place. I hope any and all walkers managed to walk into the ocean and drown. It'll probably be more beautiful now that there's no one to mess with it," she said wistfully.

"I wish I could've seen it. So what _was_ your plan for selling?" he asked.

"I couldn't settle on any one plan, not even with my parents' help. I didn't want to just sell; I wanted a share of whatever company was buying it or whatever they planned on building there. I wanted a controlling interest. I offered to buy my cousins out of their share of the land, and they-went-off. _You're only thinking about yourself; you just want money for your son; you don't even live on the island_. They didn't live on the island either! They lived in Florida!" she whispered intensely to keep from raising her voice.

He nodded, pursing his lips. She shook her head and sighed. "Adelae and Chalise. I hope they're okay. We were good, all three of us. We met up every summer on the island growing up. When the land issue popped up, it became a sore spot. Adelae was married with two kids. She was the worst person to play tennis with. _So_ competitive. Chalise gave in to the travel bug whenever she could. Anywhere there was water, a beach, she wanted to go. She loved snorkeling. And she loved her cruises. I really hope they're okay."

"They may be," he said soothingly. "We don't know. And that might be the best thing."

"I hope so," she said. But she couldn't imagine that they were okay. Any time she thought about her family: her cousins, her little cousins, her parents, her grandmother, she only saw them in the past, when everything was normal.

"Our family tradition was to deed the land to the next generation on their thirtieth birthday," she said. "That meant that we had to immediately draft a will and name the previous generation as beneficiaries in case something happened to us."

"That's a nice tradition," he responded.

"It was," she agreed.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and she laid her head on his shoulder again.

"Today was a good day," she said quietly. "Haven't had many of those. They're few and far between."

"It was really good," he said as he played with her fingers. "I just want you to know...I was thinking about it earlier: when you're out there, I want you to know that I miss you."

She lifted her head and looked at him, surprised.

"I miss you," he repeated as he looked into her eyes. "And so does Carl. It's different when you're not here. I want you to be careful. Do what you need to do, but be careful, because I want you to come back."

Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and her nose and ears tickled. She was speechless. She didn't know how to tell him what those words meant to her. She didn't know how to tell him what _he_ meant to her. Hell, she barely understood what he meant to her. She just knew that he was important. And that still puzzled her. And he made her feel important. She didn't know how that could be when he was going through his own trials, but she decided that that was part of what made him so special.

"Should I have kept that to myself?" he teased.

"You better not have," she said, her voice strained with emotion. Her lips started to tremble, and she stayed them with her fingers. "Thank you. I can't even tell you what that means to me."

"I have a pretty good idea," he said.

"I get so excited to see you both," she revealed, her voice stronger. "The closer I get to the prison, when I know whoever's in the guard tower can probably see me, when I'm five minutes away, when I'm two minutes away, I get so excited. And I am careful. And I'll be extra careful now. I have to come back. Maggie and Hershel may know their way around soil and all that, but I've got my own special gardening skills."

"Yes, you do," he agreed.

She grinned. "Who else is gonna bring those skills and help you?"

"I don't know, and I don't care, but I do know those skills are required when creating a vegetable garden. And I mean _required_."

"So I can't leave you hangin'."

"No, you can't," he said, leaning closer to her.

She pulled him in and surrendered to his skillful lips. A delicious shiver traveled over her body. She wanted his hands on her skin again. She wanted him all over her, his heated body pressed against hers.

"I should've brought both condoms," he murmured when they separated. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"One day you're gonna have to tell me how you do that," she said, as he seemed to read her mind again. "But for now," she said as she caressed his stubble, "Just kiss me."

He did. He kissed her generously and thoroughly, and her whole being sang.

 **The End**


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